Flesh and Blood
by Kanotari
Summary: Alucard is forced to work with Alexander Anderson, infiltrating a monastery in the guise of a Catholic priest to track down a vampire hiding inside.
1. In God's House

**Let's start off this story with some very important disclaimers:**

**1) I do not own Hellsing, Hellsing Ultimate, or any of its characters.**

**2) I do not seek to endorse or defame the Roman Catholic church. This fic is the product of hours of research and years of going to mass, and I hope that I have portrayed the faith as accurately as possible. The anti-Christian comments come from Alucard, and as anyone who has read/watched Hellsing knows, he makes no secret of his hatred for the Catholic church. I chose to portray Seras as more reasonable, and to counteract his unbridled hatred and snide comments. Please let me know if I have made any errors in my description of the church, and I will seek to rectify them. If you intend to flame me for my portrayal of my own faith, however, I will happily mock and/or ignore you. Thank you for your understanding.**

**PMs and reviews are always appreciated. Your input makes me a better writer, so it's really a win-win.**

**-Kano**

* * *

Flesh and Blood

"I'm sorry. Can you repeat that?" Alucard asked, positively gleeful.

"I need your help," Alexander Anderson hissed through gritted teeth.

"Aaaand?"

The priest sighed heavily. "Please?"

The vampire grinned widely. "No."

"No?! What do you mean 'no', you treacherous heathen?"

"It's a Catholic church," Sir Hellsing interjected before her servant could further torment the Iscariot. "It's outside our organization's jurisdiction."

"And I just don't like you," Alucard added, much to his master's chagrin.

"The vampire is hiding in a monastery, aye, but he has been preying on the common man," Anderson protested. "This is England! Are the English people not in your jurisdiction?"

"Not the religious nutcases," Alucard muttered.

Integra shot him a venomous glare as she asked,"Why are the Iscariots interested in this case, if it is our jurisdiction, as you claim?"

"We have other, more pressing issues at hand."

"Like your little cardinal party," the vampire sneered.

"Aye, our consistory."

"In England?" Alucard sneered again. It wasn't as though the country was known for its Catholicism.

"So we wanted to promote our religion -"

"Absolutely not!" Integra screeched. "Your church will not have a presence in a Protestant country!"

"Regardless, the vampire -"

The Hellsing director brandished her index finger at Father Anderson as though it were a weapon, and he fell silent. "Move your meeting. Gather the cardinals in Italy, or someplace else. I don't care where, just not here; not in my country. Those are my terms."

The priest extended his hand toward the blonde woman. "Agreed."

"Then what would you have us do?" she asked calmly.

"I need one of your agents to go undercover, to find out which traitorous priest must be dealt with."

It was Alucard who chimed in. "Dealt with? I would be more than happy to 'deal with' any of your kind." He sounded like a child on Christmas morning as his voice quivered with undeniable excitement and anticipation.

"Touch only the one who has betrayed our heavenly father," Anderson hissed. "Or you will have me to deal with."

"Consider it a deal," the vampire agreed. "I'd shake on it, but I would rather not find out if insanity is contagious."

"I wouldn't shake your hand anyway, you monstrous heathen!"

For once, Alucard ignored his opponent's banter, instead shouting down the hallway. "Pack your bags, police girl! We're going to church!"

* * *

"I look ridiculous," the No-Life King groaned as he emerged in full clerical rainiment. From his polished black shoes to his clerical collar, he looked every inch as priestly as the Iscariot standing beside him, and it disgusted him. "Remind me why I agreed to wear this."

"Because," Integra spat back, "you wanted to, and I quote, 'deal with', a Catholic priest."

"Aye, don't you be backing out of our deal now," Anderson chimed in.

"Why doesn't she have to wear this?" the vampire whined, jerking his thumb at Seras.

"Only men can be priests!" she insisted. "Besides, Sir Hellsing tells me I won't be going into the monastery."

"Lucky you," Alucard muttered darkly, his lower lip jutting out in what was most certainly a pout.

"How were you going to manage this infiltration when you have no clue about Catholic customs?" Seras queried.

"I know plenty!" he protested. "I used to be Catholic, in fact, I killed people for not being Catholic!"

Seras tilted her head like a confused puppy. She had always assumed that her master had always be Protestant, like Sir Hellsing. "What happened?"

"Being beheaded tends to shake your faith, police girl."

"I meant, how did you forget everything about Catholicism?"

"I haven't been to church since I died. How do you think I forgot?"

"Oh..." Seras replied lamely. "I suppose the church has changed a lot since then, anyway. Well, master, if it makes you feel better, I haven't gone since I graduated from Catholic school."

"The nuns must have loved you," Alucard chuckled darkly, watching Seras shiver. She still had the scars from their vicious rulers.

"Well, Seras," Integra spoke as she entered the room, "I hope your memory is more reliable. We'll be needing your expertise."

"You will, Sir Hellsing?" the former cop echoed. "What for?"

"You will be going as well," Integra explained.

"But... I'm a girl!"

"Yes Seras. We noticed," the Hellsing director quipped. "You will stay outside, providing Alucard with all the information he will need to remain inconspicuous and sniping if the situation gets... hairy."

"Yes ma'am," the draculina answered smartly.

"Kiss up," Alucard muttered under his breath.

"And as for you," Integra said, rounding on him. "You are to be on your best behaviour. If I see so much as a scratch on any non-vampire priest, I swear you will regret it." Alucard could almost see the light bulb switch on as she gave a little gasp of remembrance. "Oh! And Father Anderson will be expecting you at Sunday mass shortly. You'd best be on your way."

* * *

The bells tolled eight times, signalling the start of mass at St. Benedict's. The surly vampire found himself seated next to a very frustrated Father Anderson. It wasn't the priest's fault; anyone would be cross after being subjected to a thirty minute car ride with a man who thrived on other people's pain. Alucard had began the car ride by laughing at Anderson's cassock, the iconic priestly garb he wore daily to demonstrate his life choices. He then proceeded to bemoan the fact the he too had to wear the ridiculous get-up, demanded to speak with the pope about his fashion sense, and threw his rosary out the car window. On top of it all, Alucard then finished the trip by pondering how, and more importantly whom, he would have to eat during the infiltration. Naturally, the priest was finding it difficult to focus on his worship.

_Abbot Aidan O'Brien_, Seras informed Alucard via their mental link as the head of the monastery walked slowly and solemnly down the aisle to heavenly music. On Integra's orders, she was at a coffee shop across the street, using a laptop and her telepathic link to her master to keep him posted with all the information he would need. _He is in charge of all the monks and priests residing at St. Benedict's._

_So he's the chief of the sociopaths_, the vampire said scathingly. _I hate him already._

Alucard felt his left eye begin to twitch as he bowed his head in unison with the congregation. He sighed heavily as the Abbot presided over the mass, causing Anderson to elbow him in the side. The vampire felt like elbowing the priest back, but decided that the other clergymen might find it suspicious if he started a brawl. Then he wouldn't get to kill anyone and this torturous church service would be for nothing.

He looked around, unsettled, when the assembled masses began to speak in unison. "I confess to almighty God and to you, my brothers and sisters..."

_What on earth are they doing?_ Alucard groaned. _They're so apologetic and whiny._

_Confessing their sins!_ Seras bemoaned._ They're supposed to be apologetic!_

_Stop your whining and open your book. You stick out like a sore thumb when you stand there silently!_ another voice shouted, echoing inside Alucard's skull.

_Master?_ the shocked vampire asked. _Why are you in my head? Also, how_?

_Who else would it be, you dimwit?_ Integra demanded.

_She can listen in on our conversations if she keeps in physical contact with me and I focus on letting her into my mind,_ Seras explained.

_And just how did you figure this out?_ Alucard wondered.

_That is of no concern to you,_ Integra insisted. _Now open your book and stop standing there like a slack-jawed buffoon!_

Much to the vampire's relief, the chanted prayer subsided.

_Oh thank god it's over,_ he sighed in relief. But it wasn't. A thunderous arpeggio rang out behind him as the pipe organ groaned to life. A swelling wave of voices grew into a sonorous chord. _You can't be serious..._

_You've only been here for five minutes, master,_ Seras informed him patiently. _They haven't even start-_

_This is torture!_ he interrupted.

_You make it sound like-_

_How do these insane people stand this?_

_What are you... Oh. The choir._ Seras stifled a laugh. Her master hated many, many things in this world, but singing was toward the top of that list, never mind the tone-deaf singing of a church gathering. The joyous noise assaulted his ears like tanks marching to war. He must have been making a face, for Anderson stomped on his foot under the pew. Alucard tried to force a benevolent smile while still trying to hide his elongated canines. The result was rather terrifying, and not at all kindly. The vampire could feel his stomach rebelling against the musical din, threatening to void itself.

Alucard practically collapsed back onto the wooden bench when the song was over. He was about to rejoice when a lector stepped up to the pulpit and opened a gold-leafed book. The vampire slumped further down in his seat.

"A reading from the book of Job," the lector started. "Then answered the LORD unto Job out of the whirlwind, and said, gird up thy loins now like a man: I will demand of thee, and declare thou unto me. Wilt thou also disannul my judgment? wilt thou condemn me, that thou mayest be righteous? Hast thou an arm like God? or canst thou thunder with a voice like him?"

_Wouldst thou put me out of my misery, police girl?_ Alucard begged.

_Get a hold of yourself, master,_ Seras urged.

_Listening to this garbage makes me so furious. This pretentious god tells this sap to suffer in silence, because he can do what he wants. I should be a god. I already do what I want!_

Seras sighed. _The passage is telling us not to wonder why we must suffer, but that the reasons are vastly complicated and impossible to understand._

_So... this god guy does what he wants and then gets away with it?_

Seras sighed again. For a someone who had lived for five hundred and sixty-eight years, Alucard was capable of unbelievable immaturity.

"The Word of the Lord," the reader finished.

"Thanks be to God," the congregation murmured in unison. Alucard looked around in surprise; he had no idea what to say.

_Thanks be to god that it's all over_, the snarky vampire said, relieved.

_Master,_ Seras groaned, _you've only been here for fifteen minutes. Mass is an hour long, minimum_!

Alucard swore bitterly. _I don't get it,_ he moaned. _Mass was never like this for me when I was alive... In fact, the extent of our religious services was a priest telling us to kill in the name of God, and blessing our kills with the sign of the cross, extra blessings for impaled heathens._

_Things change in five hundred years, master._

_I'm well aware, police girl,_ he started, but his words soon dissolved into a fit of swearing; the music had started again. He uttered a string of blasphemous curses. Fortunately for the swearing vampire, it was only a short song, though it was followed by another excerpt.

"A reading from St. Paul's first letter to the Colossians," the reader continued. "Now I rejoice in what I am suffering for you, and I fill up in my flesh what is still lacking in regard to Christ's afflictions, for the sake of his body, which is the church."

_This Paul person is an utter fool. Only a moron takes pleasure in their own suffering!_ Alucard insisted.

Father Aidan grabbed his bible and took the reader's place at the pulpit, walking at a snail's pace as the choir sang, "Alleluia." Frankly, the vampire wished the fat man would walk a little faster, but the hefty abbot looked a bit out of breath as he ascended the small box behind the podium.

"The Lord be with you," the broad-waisted abbot said, a peaceful smile on his face. Only, that's not what Alucard heard. Thanks to the Abbot's heavy Irish accent, the inattentive vampire heard 'lard' instead of 'lord', and the sentence took on a whole new meaning.

_Apparently the lard has been with him for a while_, the vampire chuckled.

"A reading from the Holy Gospel according to Matthew," the fat friar continued.

"And also with you," the congregation boomed. Alucard quickly moved to cover his mouth so no one would realize that he had no idea what he was doing.

"You have heard that it was said, 'Eye for eye, and tooth for tooth,'" the abbot read. "But I tell you, do not resist an evil person. If anyone slaps you on the right cheek, turn to them the other cheek also. And if anyone wants to sue you and take your shirt, hand over your cloak as well..."

Alucard promptly tuned the man out. The priest was clearly insane; he gave terrible advice! If someone slaps you, you slap them harder. If someone wants to take your shirt, you choke them with it! Two eyes for an eye, a fist full of teeth for a tooth. The vampire was relieved when the hefty abbot stopped talking, but his relief quickly dissolved. Instead of stepping away from the pulpit, the priest closed his bible, took a deep breath, and just kept talking, explaining the very passage he just read.

The vampire sighed heavily and sank back onto the wooden bench. Anderson sent him a dirty look, but had long since given up hope that the vampire beside him would behave properly, instead settling down for a lengthy homily; Father O'Brien was not known for his brevity.

It was only when the No-Life King let out a loud snore that the Iscariot intervened. He coughed loudly to cover his partner-in-crime's offensive noise, then elbowed the napping vampire in the gut, knocking the wind out of him. Alucard coughed as well when the air vacated his lungs, causing the devout parishioners to stare angrily in his direction; even the Abbot was staring at him. The oversized man, still delivering his sermon, waddled toward the uncomfortable vampire, whose eyes darted around, desperately searching for an escape route. The priest, decked from head to toe in green robes, reached into one of his draping sleeves and pulled out something small, round, and wrapped in cellophane, which he then handed to Alucard.

The vampire had to resist the urge to shudder when the Father O'Brien's warm skin brushed his cold, dead hand. If he were a lesser vampire, who knows what might have happened. He could have burst into flame, or had his flesh melt away. Even as a more than five hundred-year-old vampire, it wasn't pleasant. Alucard felt bile rise in his throat; his desire to vomit on the saintly priest was growing. Thankfully the Abbot retracted his hand swiftly, leaving a cough drop in the vampire's long fingers.

The rotund priest quickly finished his homily (Those who retaliate will not enter the Kingdom of Heaven.) and returned to the altar, sitting in chair off to the side. The congregation was quiet, and their heads were bowed in prayer. Not wanting to blow his cover, and thereby miss his chance at violence without a lecture from Integra, Alucard did the same. The silence seemed to stretch on even longer than the fat friar's preaching; the vampire was bored.

_Hey police girl,_ he called telepathically. _How are things?_

_Things, master?_ she asked, confused.

_You know... information-gathering support things..._

_I'm not sure what you're asking._

_I'm bored, police girl. Tell me things are more interesting over there... wherever you are._

_Things are more interesting over here._ Alucard could practically hear her rolling her eyes.

_There's no need to gloat!_

Seras had to stifle a snort; for being more than five hundred years old, her master could behave awfully immaturely sometimes. _I'm sitting in a coffee shop with my boss. I have coffee and a laptop, and Harkonnen is hidden under the table. It's not all that thrilling._

_Now you're just telling me what I want to hear._

_You're being ridicu-_

_Alucard!_ Integra screeched, intruding on their telepathic hijinks._ Pay attention!_

His master's less than soothing voice reminded the vampire of his surroundings. Integra was right to interrupt them; the entire church was standing, minus him, and Anderson was glaring daggers in his direction. The parishioners were also chanting something, but what, Alucard had no clue.

_Police girl! What are they mumbling about?_ he demanded.

_It's the creed,_ she explained. _They're stating what they believe in._

_What the hell do they believe?!_

_Look it up!_ she hissed back. _It's in the missal._

_Missile?_ Alucard wondered, confusing the religious text for a weapon of mass destruction. _I didn't realize the church was so well defended..._

_The book!_ she groaned. _Open the book on the back of the seat in front of you._

The vampire reached out, but his arm stopped halfway its destination.

_There are two books!_ he said, a hint of panic creeping into his voice.

_One of them is all music. You're looking for the other one._

Handling the books like a classy lady might handle a dog's fecal matter, he tenuously opened one of the books and leafed through. Sure enough, it contained nearly a thousand songs, every last one sure to make the vampire want to puncture his own eardrums with the nearest sharp object. Alucard threw the leather-bound pages to the floor in disgust, opening the other book instead.

_You're looking for the Nicene Creed,_ Seras informed him. _It should be near the middle of the book._

The book in question had several hundred pages. 'Near the middle' was not the most helpful description. Alucard hastily flipped page after page, at last landing on the one bearing the heading he had been searching for.

"... and the life of the world to come. Amen," the congregation finished. Alucard, who had just opened his mouth to join in, promptly closed it once again, slamming the book shut with more vigor than necessary. He found himself glaring angrily at the muscular man who took his place at the podium.

_That is Father Rea,_ Seras informed him coolly. _He's the almoner, so he's in charge of charity and helping the poor._

Poor sap, Alucard sighed. _No wonder he looks so miserable._

It wasn't just Alucard's imagination; the large priest wore a distinct frown. His muscles bulged under his black cassock. Frankly the priest looked more like a body-builder than a man of god. The sinew in his neck threatened to snap his collar when he swallowed and took a big breath before speaking in a deep, bass voice that rumbled the walls of the church like a foot pedals on a pipe organ.

"That our world leaders may turn the other cheek when dealing with other nations, that our international community might find peace. We pray to the Lord."

"Lord hear our prayer," the parish clamored in unison.

"That we might remember the lessons and the love of Jesus when dealing with our fellow man. We pray to the Lord."

Again, the assembly echoed back with the traditional response.

Predictably, Alucard rolled his eyes and dismissed the whole ritual as silly, though he mumbled the response with the rest of the congregation both to keep up appearances and to keep the observant Iscariot's pointed elbow from digging into his ribs.

"For the sick and the suffering," Father Rea continued.

_Do they really think that wishing is going to cure these people?_ Alucard wondered to Seras.

_It gives them hope, master._

"For the deceased, that they may-"

The father was cut off by a blood-curdling yell and a metallic clamor. Whispers spread through the congregation like a wildfire; yelling in church was considered quite rude. A few people stood to see just what had happened. They found their answer on the altar.

Several priests in the congregation had joined the abbot on the altar during Father Rea's prayers to prepare for next part of mass: the eucharist. One of them, a skinny, bespectacled man, lay on the floor, unmoving.

Father Anderson stood and forced his way to the aisle, then briskly walked onto the altar, pausing only for a moment to make a sign of reverence to the crucifix hanging high above. He hurried over to the fallen man's side, ordering the other priests to, "Move aside! Vatican Special Forces, Section XIII!"

The Iscariot's powers were for more than just combat, or so Alucard found out. Murmuring verses, the Father placed his hands upon the victim's torso. The man's eyes fluttered open as he blinked slowly several times. As he regained consciousness, he regained his memory. The fallen priest, still on the floor, began to scramble backwards, away from the goblet he had taken from the tabernacle. Anderson's face grew even more concerned as he watched the terrified priest begin to tremble. What in God's name could make a man act like that? He intended to find out.

Anderson bent down and picked up the golden goblet, and nearly dropped it himself. There could be no doubt that something was wrong in this church; inside the vessel was a chunk of human flesh in a pool of congealed blood.

* * *

**A/N: Just to reiterate, I do not intend for this fic to insult anyone. I am Roman Catholic, and I am making fun of my own faith through the eyes of Alucard, who has made no secret of his hatred for the Catholic church. Furthermore, I feel that by finding the flaws in our faith, we can meditate on them and use them to strengthen our resolve. If you wish to have a healthy religious debate, please feel free to PM me. If you wish to flame me, I will laugh at you and then ignore you.**


	2. Confessions of a Sinner

**Hi everyone, **

**It feels like forever since I've updated... well... anything. In truth it's only been about three weeks, but that still feels like forever. Hopefully now that my life is settling back into a smooth schedule, I'll be able to publish more often.**

**As always, thank you to Annavance92, who helps me immensely with all of my Hellsing works.**

**And because this story deals with such a volatile topic...**

*****Disclaimer: I am not anti-Catholic, in fact... I am Catholic. The religious mockery contained in the following chapter deals with real themes presented in Hellsing (which belongs to Kouta Hirano and not me, much to my chagrin) and reflect Alucard's own opinion, not mine. I will ignore any silly comments along the lines of 'u r stoopid and God will smit3 u,' not that anyone has been silly enough to tell me that yet, but you have been warned.*****

**Thank you for your open minds and logical attitudes, now let's have some silly fun at my religion's expense.**

**-Kanotari**

* * *

"Forgive me Father, for I have sinned," the vampire said solemnly in his deep baritone voice. The corners of his mouth twitched as he struggled to maintain his composure. He closed the heavy oaken door behind him, shutting himself in the confessional with the Abbot. As soon as the lock clicked into place, he grinned widely and let out a cold laugh.

"Forgive me father, for I can't take this seriously," Alucard laughed, wiping a beaded tear from the corner of his eye. "So... I need something from you."

"Absolution?" the confused Abbot wondered in his heavy Irish accent from behind an ornate screen. A wooden kneeler faced the screen, clearly meant for the confessor. Alucard chose to ignore it, instead lounging comfortably against a wall.

"If you seriously want to try to absolve me of my sins, we'll be here for a week," the vampire sneered.

"I have all the time in the world for God's children," Father O'Brien said seriously, which only made the snide immortal snicker. He had been at least five-hundred years old when the crinkled man before him had been born.

Alucard had come to confession for the first time since his heart stopped beating so that he might gain some insight into the dismembered remains that had been found in the church earlier in the day, not so that he could, as he put it, 'be sprinkled with magic fairy dust.' The temptation to frighten the priest into cooperation was just too... entertaining.

With a wide, toothy grin, he walked around the screen and sat on the edge of a chair conveniently positioned for a face-to-face confession with the benevolent abbot. The vampires' bony knees were only inches from the priest's in the cramped room, adding to the awkwardness of the situation. Alucard didn't mind; he found the whole situation rather amusing.

"Where to begin...?" he pondered, scratching his head theatrically. "Let's start with yesterday."

The vampire wished that he had the foresight to bring a camera with him; the expression on the Abbot's face was one that he would treasure. The rotund friar's eyebrows had vanished into his long, neatly-trimmed bangs, his blue eyes wide with surprise. Alucard didn't even have to drink the man's blood to know he what he was wondering: What in God's holy name did I just get myself into?

"Well I woke up and immediately teleported to my master's bedside, where I stared at her from the shadows until she awakened with a start. Naturally, I laughed, and she shot me. Six shots, right in the temple." He pointed to his skull and mimed pulling the trigger. "There was some yelling, and I implied that her mother had a less than honorable profession. I'm fairly sure that violates one of the commandments you people follow."

As a matter of fact, it violated two.

The priest nodded in confirmation, and started to recite the rite of penance. "God the Father of mercies, through the dea-"

"I'm not finished yet, Friar Tuck," Alucard interjected, mocking the Abbot's balding scalp and lush bangs. "We haven't even made it to breakfast yet. Walter, our butler, went into the pantry, and guess what he found?"

The priest, understandably, shook his head. He didn't want to guess. Alucard shrugged casually and simply told him.

"He didn't find anything. Nothing. Not one grain of rice. I threw it all out the window - literally! It's not like I can eat it, or anything. The look on Walter's face... it made it all worth it. And that's not the worst of the morning!"

"It gets worse?!" the Abbot murmured in shock. The plump priest began to wonder what else the lunatic before him had done. At the rate things were going, the man probably was about to confess to murder!

"Then there was the police girl."

Master... he heard Seras calling in the back of his mind. What did you do?

"This one is my favorite," Alucard continued, letting his listeners' curiosity grown. "Walter was doing laundry yesterday after he went grocery shopping. He was so tired and distracted that he didn't even notice when I tossed my red coat into his load."

Which load?! the blond girl demanded.

"Whites," he explained, his pearly teeth flashing as he grinned bemusedly.

My favorite shirt was in there! All my bras... Oh lord now they're -

Pink! Alucard finished for her. His voice rang with excitement, like a kid in a candy store.

I hate pink! Seras groaned.

"The police girl hates pink," he informed the priest, looking rather proud of himself.

"Why would you do that?" the Abbot wondered. "Why would you go out of your way to make the people around you miserable?"

"You try living for as long as I have. Believe me, kid, when you get to be five-hundred and sixty-eight years old, life becomes rather dull," Alucard answered. "Now where was I? Yes. The pink clothes. So next comes the Dairy Queen."

I knew that was you! Integra hissed over the vampires' mental link. You are going to be in so much trouble once this mission is done.

Yes, mother, Alucard quipped back.

"You see, Dairy Queen and I have a long standing hatred for each other. The ignorance of their staff members never ceases to astound me, so I take it upon myself to give their puny little minds a work-out every once in awhile. You see, priest, I have this convenient little power that allows me to control what people say. Like this."

"I hope you rot in Hell," the Abbot found himself saying. He covered his mouth with his hands as soon as the blasphemous sentence escaped.

"Fun, isn't it?" Alucard asked. "Anyway, I was making the customers order all sorts of... interesting... foods. One gentleman found that he was hungry, and I mean really hungry. He ordered enough food for at least ten people, and then proceeded to pay entirely in pennies. Another man walked in, sat down at a table, and grew increasingly irritated when none of the employees came over to take his order. He later pitched a fit in the middle of the restaurant, informing the manager that their eatery had just lost a customer. Oh! One last one. This woman ordered food for her whole family, then I had her bring it back and explain that she was allergic to nuclear waste."

Abbot O'Brien stared at the inhuman creature before him, jaw hanging wide open. The vampire grinned fiendishly and continued.

"So when I grew bored of training the foolish Dairy Queen employees, I returned home to find my master in a rage. She had a meeting in the morning, which believe it or not, went horribly without any interference from me, whatsoever. Walter made her tea, so I sat down and tried to comfort her. Tried... and failed."

You weren't even trying! Integra pitched in, telepathically.

I was too! He protested. I said I was sorry!

Yeah, the Hellsing director groaned. You said, and I quote, 'I'm sorry that your meeting went horribly, but what did you expect?'

It was a budget meeting!

Those wouldn't be a problem if it weren't for you. Do you know how much Dairy Queen is suing you for? They called, by the way.

I can't imagine why, he shrugged, trying to put on an innocent act.

They also sent me the security footage.

Damn... He was caught red-handed.

I can't believe you asked the poor cashier that! Integra groaned.

Well her stomach was jutting out! How was I supposed to know she was just fat?!

There was no need to wonder aloud, and I quote again, 'Good for you, finding someone who could love all that.'

Which reminds me...

"You know... Father... you should be glad," the vampire said without missing a beat, "you should be glad that you don't wear red robes."

Master, Seras intruded, They do wear red robes sometimes!

"Well, be glad that you don't wear them often," he corrected. "With that impressive stomach of yours, you would bear an uncanny resemblance to Santa Claus."

He doesn't have a beard! Seras butted in again.

"On second thought, you might want to add a beard. Then all the little boys would want to sit in your lap. You'd like that, I'm sure."

The poor abbot's eyes were the size of dinner plates, and the horrified look on his face only made his vampiric tormentor want to continue. The priest fingered a crucifix he wore around his neck, praying fervently under his breath.

"But I digress... Where were we? Ah! Dinner," Alucard continued, tongue running over his pointed canines. "The humans had some steaks, but I... well let's just say I prefer my meat rare." He chuckled darkly. "I went to my usual restaurant: Hyde Park."

"But... but... that's not a r-restaurant," the confused priest corrected. Alucard could tell that the quivering man of God was beginning to guess exactly what kind of sinner he was dealing with.

"Well maybe not to you. To me, it's target practice and free hors d'oeuvres. All it takes is a few breadcrumbs, which the old folks who gather there are only too happy to share."

He whipped out his two trusty pistols, much to the shock and horror of the religious man. "You see, priest, it takes a talented shot to just clip the pigeons."

He extended his arm, Jackal in hand, and pointed it at the priest's shoulder. "You have to hit them right where the wing meets the torso," he explained, jabbing the barrel into the flabby skin. The vampire watched as sweat began to form along the abbot's curious hairline, smirking as they beaded and rolled down his cheeks and jawline, trembling on his chin.

"Just an inch off and they explode into a cloud of unappetizing feathers, then poof! There goes my snack." He laughed loudly, coldly, sending shivers down the spine.

The haunting noise stopped abruptly when the door handled jiggled.

"Occupied!" Alucard called cheerily, smiling cruelly at his trapped prey. The Abbot looked as though he wanted to say something, but simply gulped.

The handle shook insistently, and the vampire's ears picked up a familiar voice outside.

"God dammit," he swore and trudged toward the door, begrudgingly unlocking it. The wooden panel slid open to reveal a familiar blond man with impeccable teeth, leering angrily.

"I was wondering when you would show up, Priest," Alucard spat with the usual amount of malice that he saved for his favorite Roman Catholic, but admitted him to the tiny room.

"Thus says the Lord, 'Blessed are you when people insult you, persecute you and falsely say all kinds of evil against you because of me. Rejoice and be glad, because great is your reward in heaven, for in the same way they persecuted the prophets who were before you,' Matthew 5:11-12," Anderson quipped back as he walked through the door, locking it behind him.

"F-father Anderson!" the Abbot gasped. "You know this man?"

"Aye," he replied with a grimace. "I brought him here."

The dilemma behind the glorified priest's eyes was obvious: yell at Anderson for subjecting him to this maniac and possibly face said maniac's wrath, or play along. Abbot O'Brien was a wise and benevolent leader, but courage was not one of his strong suits. He eventually asked, "Why?"

"Father Bell, God rest his soul," Anderson explained.

"Poor Cameron," Father O'Brien concurred, making the sign of the cross over his chest and brow. "But how is this... person... supposed to help us?"

Anderson chose his next words carefully. "He's a homicide expert."

"A bit of a prodigy, you might say," Alucard agreed.

"Clothe yourselves, all of you, with humility toward one another, for God opposes the proud but gives grace to the humble. Peter 5:5," Anderson chastised, to which the vampire rolled his eyes.

"Oh humility, the sanctimonious human advises. How very pretentious of him."

Father Anderson shook his head, choosing to ignore the mocking comment. "Allow me to introduce Alucard, an agent with the Hellsing Organization."

"It is good to meet you," the Abbot said kindly, extending a hand toward the vampire. Anderson grimaced, hoping that the vampire wouldn't treat the religious man's hand as finger food. Luckily for the Iscariot, Alucard extended his arm and gingerly grabbed the fat man's hand as one might handle a bag of dog sick.

"Well I can't say the same," Alucard mumbled under his breath. The Iscariot shot him a warning look.

"Anderson, why is this mad heathen in my church?" Abbot O'Brien whispered insistently, not realizing that Alucard's vampiric abilities gave him enhanced senses.

"Mad heathen?" he laughed. "Mad heathen? That is the best insult you could come up with?"

It seemed to the poor Abbot that the room suddenly grew darker, and that the air became saturated with the scent of death and hopelessness. Alucard, meanwhile, drew himself up to his full height, baring his fangs in a maniacal grin, as he continued to chuckle darkly.

"They say that I am the Nightwalker, that I glide through oceans of blood. They say that I am beyond human, a monster whose power radiates with a darkness that casts a shadow on darkness itself."

"Oh for the love of..." Anderson muttered. He had heard this speech so wearily often, verbatim, as a matter of fact. It was one of Alucard's favorites; the vampire felt that it got 'result', by which he meant scared the living daylights out of whomever he was targeting at the moment.

It looked as though the frightened Catholic might wet himself. "W-what are you?" he managed to stammer at last.

He ran his tongue over his pointed teeth, smirking at Abbot O'Brien's terrified expression. "What do you think I am?"

"V-v-v... A v-v-vampire..." The words were almost too much for the priest. "B-but that's impossible!"

"His master keeps him in check," Anderson added, trying in vain to make the hellish vampire seem less terrifying. "Besides, who better than a vampire to solve our vampire problem?"

"I wasn't aware that we had a v-v-vampire problem," Father O'Brien commented in shock.

"Well Father Bell's corpse bore telltale signs, and with the events of today's mass, I am certain beyond doubt that there is a vampire hiding within our monastery."

The Abbot looked at him, regarded him closely for a moment, and then promptly passed out in his chair.


	3. Terms and Conditions

**In light of the drama in the church over the pope's resignation, I was inspired to write another chapter of the fic that will probably reserve me a place in Hell. Because blasphemy is fun, I would expect this story to be updated every week or so. My little... pope warming present to everyone.**

**I really appreciate the reviews telling me that I've kept everyone in character and gotten my facts straight. If I'm going to insult something, I'd better do it right. **

**-Kano**

**P.S. Thank you to DevilDriver III for reminding me of Heinkel and Yumiko's existence. It is only fitting that they be in our little religious mockery fest. Heinkel will show up next chapter... after I've reread Crossfire.**

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Terms and Conditions

"Father O'Brien?" Anderson asked, leaning over the man. The poor fellow responded, eyes darting about the room though his body stayed still.

"Where am I?" he asked at last in his heavy Irish accent.

"Your office, Father," the Iscariot supplied, offering the abbot a hand.

"Dear me!" the rotund priest exclaimed. "Everything looks so different from the floor."

"Perhaps you should stay down there and reexamine your religious views," Alucard chimed in snidely. Apparently the abbot had written the homicidal vampire off as a dream, for when he realized that Alucard was there, the color drained from his face once again.

"Y-you!" Father O'Brien stammered, pointing one quavering finger at him. His spare hand flew to the rosary around his neck. "Begone, foul demon!"

"I would prefer if you didn't degrade my by calling me a mere low-level demon. Vampires are far superior, in a league above those pathetic creatures."

"You have no place here, Satan!" the abbot hollered. Anderson placed a steady hand on the man's shoulder.

"Peace, Father," he said calmly, "the treacherous heathen is here to help us."

"God would send no such person!" the abbot declared hotly, getting to his feet.

"God couldn't send me if he tried," Alucard scoffed.

"Abbot," Anderson interrupted before the two could continue their less-than-civil discourse, "I know that Alucard is a bit rough around the edges. Believe me, I know, but we need him. Father Bell's murder was not the act of a human. I have seen it before in my work with Division Thirteen. His death was the direct result of an unholy vampire, and that man," he insisted, pointing to Alucard, "understands vampires better than anyone else."

"Then tell me, vampire," Abbot O'Brien demanded, rounding on the No-Life King. "Why should I trust you?"

"Look, priest," Alucard spat, pronouncing the religious title with venom, "I don't care if you trust me. I'm only here so I can enjoy killing a vampire dressed just... like... you." With the last three words, the malicious vampire leaned in and invaded the fat man's personal space, chuckling as the abbot quivered.

Before the abbot could object, Anderson interjected, saying, "We've made a deal with his master. He's not to harm anything human, but in exchange, he gets to kill the vampire. Oh and... we need to move our consistory."

"Absolutely not! Our British churches need the attention. This meeting will ensure us the cardinals' favor, and the funding we need!" the abbot insisted, sitting behind his desk.

"About that..." the vampire began.

_Alucard,_ Integra hissed in the back of his mind. It was not an unfamiliar tone of voice; the vampire had heard it many times before. His master had used it just last week to warn him against visiting the Dairy Queen. He had ignored it then, and he would ignore it now.

You see, the vampire had come to a conclusion. The Hellsing Organization wasn't infiltrating a monastery in the guise of their enemies. No, he was. That means that this deal should be on his terms, not his master's. Frankly, Alucard thought the cardinals could have their silly meeting wherever they pleased. He wanted something far more precious.

"Wouldn't our vampiric friend find it odd if the consistory were moved? I mean... the last thing we'd want to do is scare him. Have you ever seen a terrified vampire, priest?" Alucard asked, flashing his fangs in the sweating man's direction. "It's not a pretty sight, let me tell you. They lash out at everything that gets close to them, hoping that one more drop of blood will be enough to save their sorry hides from the likes of me."

"Then what do you want, vampire?" the abbot asked carefully.

"One simple sentence, from either of you," he replied, casually examining his cuticles with a malicious grin.

"Oh? And what might that be?" Anderson wondered.

"I want you to say, 'My god is made-up.' That's it," he said with a dark chuckle.

_Are you serious?_ Integra demanded. _Really?_

Fathers O'Brien and Anderson were equally as skeptical. "Let me get this straight, demon," the Iscariot spat. "You want me to renounce my faith for your amusement, and then you'll stop the vampire?"

"Yup." Alucard made sure to draw out the vowel, just to further goad the priest.

"I hate you," Anderson declared.

"I know," replied the vampire, with a smile. "Say it."

Several veins in the priests forehead bulged as he seethed. "You are a despicable creature, and I refuse to believe that our Father had a hand in your creation. Only Satan himself could have been responsible for something as vile as you."

"Well you know what they say, priest," the callous vampire laughed, "Flattery will get you everywhere."

"You would do well to remember that the LORD is a jealous God, filled with vengeance and wrath. He takes revenge on all who oppose him and furiously destroys his enemies! The LORD is slow to get angry, but his power is great, and he never lets the guilty go unpunished. Nahum 1:2."

"I only require a few simple words, Anderson. You would do well to indulge me."

The Iscariot's face turned from red to purple to blue, then at last, back to a pasty white as he took a deep breath and turned to Abbot O'Brien. "I can't do it Father. I can't renounce my faith for this... this..."

"People will die," the senior priest said softly.

Anderson swore bitterly. "I know, I know." He turned back to the vampire, narrowing his cold green eyes. "Give me an alternative. Anything."

"Where's the fun in that?" Alucard asked, sounding bored.

"I'm sure you have plenty more ways to humiliate me in that sick, twisted mind of yours..."

"Oh stop!" the vampire laughed. "Now you're just trying to flatter me."

The priest bit back the scathing comments that he really wanted to throw in the heretic's face. "Anything," he reminded his foe through clenched teeth.

"Anything, eh?" Alucard flashed his pearly whites as his smirk widened into a smile. "Give me the name of one of those little boys that you have at your beck and call."

"The altar boys?" the abbot asked. "Timmy and Christopher."

"Timmy... that works. I want to hear you say, 'Yes little Timmy! Work the shaft!' And for God's sake, put some feeling in it."

The Iscariot turned to Abbot O'Brien. "Forgive me in advance, Father."

"There is nothing to forgive," the portly man replied benevolently.

With a look of deepest hatred, Anderson looked the vampire in his crimson eyes and said the magic words in the most monotone voice possible. "Yes Little Timmy. Work the shaft."

"I don't know, priest..." Alucard mused, pursing his lips and rubbing his chin. "I think you can do better than that."

"You can't be serious!" Father Anderson spat.

"Oh but I am. No emotion, no dead vampire. Simple as that."

Alexander Anderson shot a look of pure loathing in the No-Life King's direction. "I hate you."

"I know," he said, smirking.

With a heavy sigh, the Vatican priest steeled himself and said it again. "Yes Little Timmy! Work the shaft!" Despite his best effort, he couldn't keep the edge of sarcasm from him words.

"That wasn't so hard, now was it?" Alucard said, voice ringing with glee. "Which reminds me of a joke... How do you castrate a priest?" He paused, looking back and forth between the clergymen's furious stares. "Anyone? No? I'll just tell you then. You kick the altar boy's chin." He dissolved into a fit of maniacal laughter. "I have another one," the vampire continued. "Would you like to hear it?" Their faces clearly said no, but he didn't care. "What's the difference between a priest and a pimple? Anyone?"

A loud rap on the door interrupted the undoubtedly offensive joke. "Perhaps they know..." mused the No-Life King. He opened the door to see a smiling face, so cheerful in fact, that he immediately despised it. Her round glasses magnified her warm, caring eyes, and her long, black hair framed her face. From head to toe, the woman looked every inch the perfect nun.

"Abbot O'Brien," she greeted happily, "I heard about what happened during confession, and I decided that I absolutely must bring you some tea. May I come in?"

"How thoughtful, Sister Yumiko!" the abbot replied. "Please have a seat."

Alucard rolled his eyes at the overt show of politeness, closing the door perhaps a little harder than necessary as the darling nun crossed the threshold and entered the room. She crossed the tiny office with a spring in her step, placing the teacup and its saucer on the abbot's desk. A strange expression crossed the religious man's face as he noticed something extra on the saucer: a napkin with something scribbled on it.

Yumiko Takagi perched herself in a chair opposite the abbot as the rotund man produced a pair of half-moon glasses from one of the desk's many drawers. Holding the napkin at arms' length, he managed to make out the words and nodded. He made eye contact with Father Anderson. "Heinkel has a report for you. She wishes to meet you at The Rose and Crown."

Eying Alucard as if wondering why he was privy to sensitive information, Sister Yumiko said, "She thought it was a place where your meeting would remain inconspicuous."

Anderson nodded. "Heinkel always thinks of the details." The priest turned to Alucard, saying, "Come along before I change my mind."

The vampire plodded along after the Catholic. As the left the room, he couldn't help but smile as he heard the nun softly wonder, "Who was that man?" and Abbot O'Brien respond with, "You don't want to know."


	4. A Priest and a Vampire Walk into a Bar

**Hello everyone!**

**It certainly has been a while... Sorry about that. I was going through a bit of writer's block. But fortunately, my snark is back! And there was much rejoicing yay! **

**PM me or leave me a review. Let me know what made you laugh, what you didn't get, what you thought wasn't terribly funny, etc. These things help make F&B, not to mention all of my other future stories, much more enjoyable for everyone concerned. Do yourselves a favor and talk to me. I always appreciate it. On that note, I would like to thank Contract Kid and Homuresu Torii for encouraging me to get this chapter out. Half of it has been sitting on my desktop for a while, and their friendly nagging pushed me to finish up the rest. Thanks guys. **

**Thanks, as always, to Annavance92, my lovely beta reader, who sat through many horrible priest and vampire jokes, and unluckily for her, will have to sit through many more. **

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**Since a lot of people have been confused, Yumiko and Heinkel are minor characters from Hellsing. They are both part of Section XIII under Anderson. They are featured more prominently in _Crossfire_, a precursor to _Hellsing_. **

**Yumiko is the calm, sweet nun that we saw last chapter, but she has a split personality. The violent, angry Yumie takes over at times, indicated by the removal of Yumiko's glasses among other things. **

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A Priest and a Vampire Walk into a Bar

Alucard was positively giddy to be out of his cassock and back into his ancient blood-red trench coat and matching fedora. If possible, he was even happier to see Alexander Anderson out of his clerical garb and in plain clothes. The Iscariot had even removed his clerical collar in hopes of going unnoticed. Heinkel, apparently had the same thought. Aside from gathering in a bar which had undoubtedly earned the nickname 'The Five Smells' (none of which were pleasant), she looked positively unapproachable despite her rather low-cut dress.

Anderson raised an eyebrow at the woman's curious dress.

"Shut up. Yumie picked it out," she growled by way of greeting, leaning back on her barstool and running fingers through her scruffy straw-colored hair.

"Glad you're still in one piece, sister," Anderson said as he sat down next to her.

"Who's he?" she demanded, jerking a thumb in Alucard's direction.

"Someone who is going to help us with our... pest problem. We'll fill you in later, somewhere more private," he explained.

Not about to be ignored, Alucard placed an elbow on the priest's shoulder and leaned against him, extending his other arm toward the crass woman before him.

"Nice company you keep, Anderson," he said. From the expression on the priest's face, it was clear that he didn't know if his vampiric companion was being sarcastic or not. "The name's Alucard," he continued, extending a gloved hand across the bar.

She ignored his proffered hand, instead asking Anderson, "Is this guy serious?"

"Unfortunately, yes," came the response.

"So, down to business," she said with a casual shrug. "I trade you a cigarette for what I found out."

Anderson pulled a pack from inside his jacket; he had expected this, no doubt. Heinkel produced her own lighter, though from where in the tight fitting ensemble, Alucard could not guess. "Thanks," she murmured. The female Iscariot took a long drag, letting the nicotine clouds billow from the sides of her mouth. "Ahhh," she sighed. "Haven't been able to have one of these babies in forever. The smell would have given me away in an instant."

"Just what have you been doing?" Alucard asked.

She raised an eye at Anderson to make sure it was okay to speak in front of the black-haired stranger. When the Iscariot gave a nod, she said, "I installed cameras over the past few days. Let's say that some of the tapes were interesting."

"Interesting how?" Father Anderson inquired.

Heinkel conspicuously pulled a small cassette from within her bodice and slid it across the table to the two gentlemen, angrily muttering something about 'that damn Yumie' and her 'infernal temper.' It had a sticker on it, bearing the words 'Camera #6 11/20 08:00-12:00.'

"Yesterday?" Anderson wondered, raising an eyebrow. "Is this footage of the mass?"

"I'd settle for before the mass," Alucard corrected.

"Both," Heinkel replied, looking quite pleased with herself.

The priest nodded approvingly. "You caught the culprit in the act? Amen, sister. Your reward shall be great in Heaven. For the Son of Man is going to come with his angels in the glory of his Father, and then he will repay each person according to what he has done. Matthew 16:27."

Alucard rolled his eyes. "Thus says me: shuteth your trap lest I do it for you."

In that moment, the vampire found himself looking down the barrels of two twin pistols. Where the blonde woman had produced them from, he had no clue. She practically growled at him. "The soul who sins shall die. The son shall not suffer for the iniquity of the father, nor the father suffer for the iniquity of the son. The righteousness of the righteous shall be upon himself, and the wickedness of the wicked shall be upon himself. Ezekiel 18:20."

"So much for inconspicuous..." Anderson groaned as all eyes in the shady bar flicked in their direction. The rising volume, and not to mention the weapons, were made them stand out in a crowd. Alucard slowly placed his large, gloved hand on the barrels of the gun, delicately aiming them away from his face.

"You really are Anderson's apprentice, aren't you? Temper, temper," he mused softly.

"Quiet, heathen," she spat. She snapped in Anderson's direction. "Why is _he_ with you?"

"Because," Alucard interrupted, "he needs me."

"Needs you," she scoffed, though the haughty expression faded as Anderson began to nod.

"He knows what we're dealing with better than anyone," the priest confirmed.

"Just watch the damn tape," Heinkel snarled, getting out of her seat and grabbing her guns from the bar. "And remind Yumiko to leave some dinner for me," she added as she stormed off.

"Yumiko?" Alucard inquired as the hem of the tomboy's black dress whipped out the door and around the corner. "Is she acquainted with that ridiculous bint from the fat man's office?"

Anderson bit his tongue to keep himself from reminding the pretentious vampire that the 'bint' was his protegee and a lovely person. He knew the vampire could care less. "Yes, Sister Yumiko and Sister Heinkel are old friends," he informed his colleague.

"_Sister?_" Alucard chuckled. "That crazy woman is a nun?"

"I would have thought the excerpts from the Bible were a tip-off," Anderson shot back. "And she is one of my fellow Iscariots."

"I'm quaking in my boots. Still, she's a hell of alot easier to deal with than that other prat."

"Sister Yumiko has killed more than her fair share of your kind."

"What did she do? Hug them to death?" The vampire rolled his eyes at the thought of the model nun even holding a weapon.

"You would do well to run if you ever saw her with her sword drawn," Anderson reminded him.

"I'll take my chances," he scoffed.

The funny thing was that the very moment Anderson and Alucard returned to grounds of St. Benedict's Monastery, they saw a katana-wielding, habit-wearing mad woman. Sure enough, it was the same woman that the vampire had met the previous day in the Abbot's quarters. The transformation was staggering. Alucard wondered what the woman had ingested.

"Yumie!" Anderson called, sprinting across the monastery lawn toward the deranged nun. "Calm yourself sister!"

The nun, of course, did no such thing. Instead, she leapt upwards and grabbed a low hanging bough of one of the monastery's many crabapple trees. Alucard stifled a snort as Father Anderson dodged a rain of overripe fruit shaken from Sister Yumiko's climbing. She rose up, up, up, katana clenched in her teeth, catching her habit on the branches which reached upwards to the sun.

"Please, Yumie!" the Iscariot begged. "Stop this foolishness."

The nun carefully let go of one of her hand holds and removed her sword from between her teeth. Blade gone, her lips curled downwards in an upset frown. "This _foolishness_," she spat, pronouncing the word with particular resentment, "wouldn't be necessary if you had been here."

"I was tending to important matters!" Anderson protested. "We can talk about them if... if... if..." he stammered as his annoyance turned into frustration. "... if you just get out of the damn tree!"

"Language, Father!" Alucard called from across the lawn, striding towards his religious allies. "Think of the children."

"Not now, Alucard," Anderson shot back. He turned back to the airborne nun. "I can help, if you'll let me!"

"I suppose you do have to make up for not preventing this whole mess," Yumie sighed. "Help me find this guy."

"Who?" the priest and vampire asked simultaneously, one with a heavy sigh and the other with palpable excitement.

Yumie stared at them with incredulity. "The murder!"

It was Anderson's turn to start incredulously. "You know who was responsible for yesterday's mass?!"

"That doesn't matter right now! You were supposed to be protecting the Abbot!" Yumiko screeched. "Where on Earth were you?!"

"We'll talk about it inside instead of shouting it across the courtyard for the world to hear," the priest hissed through clenched teeth.

"Well I hope it's a good story, Father Anderson, because I'd hate to hear that you were drinking yourself silly while the Abbot was dying."

Alexander Anderson was dumbfounded by the revelation. "You can't be serious, sister! Abbot O'Brien... I was with him this morning!"

"Well you won't be seeing him tomorrow," she insisted.

"He can't... he can't be..." Anderson stammered in disbelief.

"I'm in a tree in a skirt, looking for the _bastard_," she hollered, letting the word echo across the open space, "who killed the Abbot so that I may rip out his entrails and hang him by his own eviscerated colon. There's a reason you're talking to me and not Yumiko."

Alucard never was skilled with names, but he had been fairly certain that the psychotic nun was named Yumiko. It was for this reason that he tilted his head to the side so that it was nearly resting on his shoulder.

"Dammit Yumie! You were supposed to be protecting Abbot O'Brien while Heinkel and I chased down the killer! How did this happen?"

"You told me to get some rest while you watched him, and then you took off!" the nun protested.

"I did no such thing!" the Iscariot leader bellowed!

"Are you calling me a liar?" the nun demanded at the same time that Anderson hollered, "Do not impugn my honor!"

The two stared at each other, seething, until something curious happened. Yumie's protests died on her lips as she reached deep into her habit and produced a pair of round spectacles. She put them on with a wide smile, and then let out a shriek. "How did I get up here?!"

"Yumie," Anderson sighed, for that truly explained everything.

"Help!" Sister Yumiko begged aggressive nun of moments ago vanished, and in her place was a sweet, caring woman. Alucard began to wonder if the glasses were magical.

Anderson shook his head at the silly sister and extended an arm. She used it as a footrest while she made her way through the lower branches, finally grasping his hand with hers as she dropped the rest of the way to the ground.

"Good to have you back, Yumiko," the priest said. "Now, who are we looking for?"

"He was tall - wait! No, average height. He had brown hair, or was it black? Either way it was really long. He weighed... well I don't know. He was pretty skinny..."

"So you have no clue then?" Father Anderson asked.

"None whatsoever," she replied accurately.

Alucard decided to step in. "You two, search the building. Stop anyone that you don't recognize. Call in the angry girl from the bar. I'll go examine the fat man's quarters. And if you catch the murderer, for god's sake leave him alive. I was promised the opportunity to pummel a priest, so this will just have to do."

For the first time in his life, Alexander Anderson found himself taking orders from a heathen, a monster. He hated it, but he did it all the same. He took Sister Yumiko by the hand and walked rapidly toward the dormitories.

Alucard watched them hurry away, but only for a moment before springing into action. He strode toward the building's shadow, the only shade from the hot midday sun. He closed his eyes and focused for a moment, then his mouth twisted into a smirk. He stepped into the darkness, passing through the void. When he reopened his eyes, he was inside, right where he had been the day before.

The former Abbot's quarters were as sparsely decorated and boring as Alucard remembered, though he felt the copious amount of blood was an improvement. It was pooled on the floor, sprayed across the bedsheets, and dripped on the desk. Frankly, it looked as though the man had exploded. Alucard looked upon the murder's work with respect. If the man had been trying to invoke fear and terror, he was certainly quite skilled at it, but he was fairly sure the murderer had other intentions. For across the wall, in a delicate scrawl, was a message painted in human blood:

_Hello, master._

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**So... a priest and a vampire walk into a bar. The vampire asks the bartender for a Bloody Mary. The priest laughs and says, "Good luck with that. She's pregnant." ... That... that wasn't very funny. Or appropriate... I'll leave now.**


	5. Master

**Hi everyone,**

**This chapter will be a little more serious than those previous, but every once in awhile, a bit of seriousness is needed to help move the plot along. This chapter also gets to introduce a new OC, someone who I hope will be an entertaining mix with Alucard... and his former self. **

**Enjoy!**

**-Kanotari **

**P.S. Thanks Annavance92!**

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Master

Seras shrieked as she felt a hot breath warming the back of her neck. Integra swore at the sound, bemoaning her servants.

"Master!" Seras groaned at the same time that Integra said, "Alucard," in her favorite warning tone.

"This is far kinder than your vicious hugs," Alucard said unapologetically. The blonde looked at him with a pitiful expression that would have filled lesser mortals with undeniable guilt. The No-Life King was unfazed, and continued on. "You wanted to see me?"

She tilted her head to the side, looking rather like a confused puppy. "How did you know?"

"The message in the wall was pretty clear," he replied. It gave him pause. Had she forgotten what she had written so soon?

"What message?" she chirped.

Apparently she was that forgetful... "Hello master? What? Did you just want to say 'hi'?" Alucard scoffed. _Why didn't you just ask me normally?_ he added via their mental link.

"Master," she said back. "I've been here all day. Ask Sir Hellsing."

"She hasn't left my sight, Alucard," Integra confirmed.

"Interesting..." the vampire mumbled. He cleared his throat and continued on in a normal tone. "I just wanted to say hi."

"Alucard," Integra said, drawing out the vowels, her voice dripping with menace.

"Bye," he called over his shoulder as the hem of his red cloak slipped around the corner and out of sight.

_I'm not letting you get away that easily,_ the Hellsing director hissed, taking advantage of Seras's connection to the misbehaving vampire.

_You must be mistaken, Master_, Alucard answered back. _I'm not getting away with anything._

_That's right you aren't! What message?_ Integra demanded.

_Our murderer left us a little note on the wall of the Abbot's chambers_, he explained.

_Hello master?_ Seras chimed in, recalling their previous conversation.

Integra noticed the other message hidden in Alucard's words. _Wait a moment! The abbot-_

_Hello master,_ he confirmed, both interrupting and ignoring Sir Hellsing. _That's why I assumed it was you, Seras._

_Why would someone spray paint that on a wall?_ the draculina wondered.

_Oh it wasn't paint_, Alucard chuckled darkly.

_What was it?_ Seras asked curiously.

_Let's just say our killer was quite the painter. I am quite impressed with what they achieved with all that bloo-_

_That's enough!_ Integra interrupted hastily. _We get the picture_.

_But... but who painted it?_ Seras wondered.

_I'm still working on that_, Alucard mused.

The women in his life seemed to have accepted that answer for they stopped asking questions. For the No-Life King, however, the questions were just beginning. There weren't many people who called him 'master' over the years. 'King,' yes, 'monster,' yes, but master... that was a special title. Either Seras was a brilliant liar or she really hadn't written that message on the wall, and considering the police girl wasn't able to utter a lie without stuttering and turning the shade of a ripe tomato... No, Seras was definitely telling the truth. Who, then, was the writer? Who, then, was the murderer?

* * *

Alexander Anderson found Alucard well after the evening Vespers. When the Iscariot burst past the barricaded door, he discovered that the fake friar had monopolized the St. John's recreation room, using the lone television to watch security camera footage. The tapes, however, were not the ones Heinkel had provided to them at the bar. The blurry footage on the cathode ray television instead showed two doorways: the exits from the dormitories.

It made perfect sense. The abbot's murderer, may he rot in Hell, had to enter the building without arousing suspicion. There was an excellent chance that the mystery man Yumiko had described was hidden somewhere in that footage.

He sat down on the lumpy couch next to Alucard. The vampire made no indication that he even noticed the other man in the room. Anderson coughed, softly first, then loudly, but Alucard still ignored him. With a frustrated sigh, he wave a hand in front of the vampire's spectacles, temporarily blocking the television from view.

"Oh, you're here," Alucard responded at last. "I apologize for ignoring you. Frankly, it's a bit of a reflex for me."

As he had done so many times in the past few days, Anderson swallowed the words he wanted to fling back at his crass companion. "Did you find him?" he asked instead.

He was answered with silence. Alucard simply continued to stare at the glowing screen. His brow was knitted with concern and thought, as if the simple yes or no question had sparked a war within his mind.

The priest let out an annoyed huff. "You're ignoring me again, aren't you?"

"Yes!" he responded, though with more enthusiasm than necessary. "I _am_ ignoring you!" Belatedly, a crooked smile spread across the vampire's face. "You noticed! Good for you," he said mockingly.

Anderson frowned; Alucard was lying. He had seen the vampire lie before (I promise I'll behave at church! Honest!), and... well... everyone knew how well that went. This lie, however, simply didn't feel right. Alucard had been caught off guard, and his lie was to disguise that. Anything that surprised the No-Life King certainly didn't bode well for those caught up in his affairs.

With superhuman speed, Alucard reached for the remote. His thumb connected with the pause button so fast that Anderson didn't even see it happen. The image on the screen froze, quivering in place. A few people were trapped on the screen, standing stock still

"What is it?" Anderson asked, voice full of anticipation. "Did you find him?"

He glanced at the screen. Fathers Aidan and Erikson were leaving the building with Sister Heidi. The timestamp in the corner flashed 12:01:27. The Sister had a wide smile, and Erikson looked quite pleased with himself. That was no surprise; Erikson fancied himself a comedian and Heidi shot milk out her nose at the mere mention of the word 'pudding.' Father Aidan was busy looking through his wallet, presumably checking to see if he could afford the lunch the trio was likely heading to. They seemed innocent enough. Perhaps it was something in the background? Other than a few people nearly out of frame and two squirrels rushing up the trunk of a tree, there was nothing of note. Why had Alucard chosen to pause here?

Alucard pursed his lips, choosing his words carefully. He rose from the couch and made for the door. "I didn't find _him_ anywhere," he stated stiffly. He was gone before Anderson could say another word.

* * *

_Moscow, Russia: Lower City_

_September 12, 1486; 11:07 PM_

Thirst, insatiable thirst. The blood of his homeland had not been enough to slake the desire which burned his throat. Years of feasting, years of revenge on the country which murdered him had filled the streets with terror. Families barred their doors at night, sprinkling holy water on them to ward off the 'vampir,' as they named him in frightened whispers. The price of silver skyrocketed as men brought up the metal to protect the children. Housewives hoarded cloves of garlic, not for food but for safety. Vampire hunters appeared in every town, crawling from the woodwork like the vermin that they were. One man against him stood no chance, but, as the Chinese proverb said, an army of ants can still move a mountain. The people of Wallachia now presented a real danger to their fallen king; it was time to move on.

And so it was that Vlad Dracula arrived in the snowy wasteland of Russia. Even early in September, the ground was frozen solid. The icy puddles reflected the moon as it danced through the clouds above.

"Idti yebat' sebya!"

The cursing echoed through the still night. Vlad hadn't practiced his Russian in years, but he still remembered that phrase: go fuck yourself. The corners of his mouth twitched upwards into a smile. He remembered shouting those words in the face of King Matias during his imprisonment as a mere mortal in the Turkish dungeons. He'd studied that phrase just so he could savor the look on the Russian envoy's face, and he had not been let down. The unfortunate emissary had just taken a swig of his wine when the king brought him downstairs to see the captive, spraying the red liquid all over the back of the monarch's robes at Vlad's exclamation. Good times.

Tonight's scream, unlike his own, was not full of pride and mocking hatred. The woman, for it had been a woman's voice, sounded angry and just a bit fearful. Vlad's feet instinctively changed course, heading for the source of the ruckus. The woman's outburst was met with a chorus of crass laughter, as if her exclamation had been amusing to someone. They wouldn't be laughing for long.

It was then that he glimpsed her for the first time, the woman who would change his life. Her blonde hair was in a state of disarray, decorated with flakes of snow and gobs of mud from where it had been rammed into the cobblestones. Her dress, well worn, was tattered and ripped by greedy fingers. A small trickle of blood ran down her porcelain cheek from a series of jagged wounds, and the soft flesh of her neck had become a myriad of purple and blue those facts, her eyes blazed with anger and her jaw was set in a fierce scowl.

Vlad recognized the expression immediately. He had seen it in the eyes of those who had defied him, and felt it himself as he suffered through his childhood. His hand flew to his neck, reaching for the silver cross which had hung there all those years ago as he grit his teeth, bit his tongue, and took the Ottoman abuse in silence. Of course it wasn't there; that last vestige of his humanity had shattered when he took on this new form. The woman's defiant yells brought back memories he had long fought to suppress. Cross or no, this had to stop.

Olive green uniforms became blood red as Vlad sprang into action, moving at speeds faster than any mere mortal could. The three soldiers who surrounded the beaten woman barely had time to cry out before the light faded from their eyes. A guttural cry escaped one man's throat as his arm parted from his shoulder in a shower of arterial blood. His eyes widened with pain and shock as the severed limb was then thrust through his stomach. He was already limp by the time Vlad's pointed fangs pierced his collar, lapping up his lifeblood as it pooled between the cobblestones.

The woman stayed silent as the two remaining aggressors dissolved into a crimson mist. When the air cleared, all that remained was Vlad, licking the scarlet droplets from his fingers, careful not to miss a drop.

In just a few seconds, the woman had gone from the frying pan and into the fire. The cruel soldiers had been liquified, but now she was left staring into the bright red eyes of a ravenous vampire enjoying his blood rage. He smiled at her, blood flowing around the base of his teeth and staining his gums with vivid color. It might have been haunting, if he didn't look so pleased with himself.

Perhaps it was his expression, or perhaps it was the way his greasy hair fell into his eyes, threatening to invade his nose with every heavy breath, but the woman let out an amused snort.

Vlad's blood rage faded as he realized he was being laughed at, something new for him. No one dared to laugh before his throne, lest he find the desire to shish-kebab them, and even less people had the guts to laugh in the face of a blood-soaked monster. Vlad's brow knitted in confusion. What had he done?

The woman tore off a piece of her shredded sleeve, proffering it to the vampire. It was clear from her quivering lip and soft, rapid exhaling that she was trying not to burst into laughter.

"Spasibo," she murmured at long last, bowing her head so low that it scraped the muddy cobblestones.

Vlad tilted his head as he realized that she was thanking him. Again, it was something new for the terrifying vampire. Most people ran for their lives after seeing him in action. Yet, here she was, smiling at him. What a strange woman...

"I have no idea what you're saying," he scoffed in his native Romanian tongue.

Her mouth formed a little O-shape as she noticed the language barrier. Instead she did something completely unprecedented. She got to her feet and closed the distance between them. Her face turned beet-red and she bit her lip, rocking on her toes as she considered what she was about to do. After a few moments, she rose to her tip-toes and planted a gentle kiss on the vampire's bloody cheek.

The blonde woman smiled widely, apparently proud of herself. "Sophia," she said, pointing to her chest. Then she poked him.

Vlad stared incredulously at the tiny woman. Was she not afraid of him at all? Still... "Vlad," he muttered.

She cupped a hand around her ear, gesturing for him to repeat himself.

"Vlad," he replied a little longer, conscious of how raspy his voice was. How long had it been since he had conversed with anyone? Weeks? Months? A faint smile appeared on his face for the briefest of moments. Talking felt nice.

Sophia reached out toward him, offering him her petite hand. It only took a moment of consideration before he reached out and took it.

"Priyatno vstretit'sya s vami, Vlad," she said. Nice to meet you.

Alucard blinked rapidly, trying to clear the memories which danced before his eyelids. Sophia... A flash of her blonde plait, not to mention the impeccable handwriting, left no doubt in the vampire's mind. They were playing host to a foreign visitor: Miss Sophia Ivanovich, the former Grand Princess of Moscow, and his former apprentice.

**Stay tuned for next chapter where Vlad tries (and fails) to learn Russian, Abbot O'Brien is laid to rest, and Alucard gives a Sunday school class a tour of St. Benedict's Monastery.**


	6. Tours and Guides

**A big thank you to those of you who have pointed out typos to me via PM. They've all been fixed! If you find any more, let me know.**

**I enjoy including OCs like Sophia in my fics because I truly believe that throwing in an OC affects the dynamic between characters and gives us something new to appreciate about them. I tried my very best to make Sophia human, and so far I think I've been successful, but please let me know if you see her becoming Sue-ish. **

**Also, I encourage you to check out my new one-shot, co-authored with Kalebxdd (an awesome DBZ writer and my fellow member of Team Dragon Star), entitled **_**Hide and Seek**_**. It features our favorite sarcastic vampire and some... friends... enjoying a good ol' fashioned game.**

**Cheers,**

**-Kano**

**Edit: Whoopsies! scene breaks didn't show up when I imported. Sorry for the confusion!**

* * *

_Moscow, Russia: Lower City_

_September 12, 1486; 11:43 PM_

"_Matushka_!" Sophia cried, throwing her arms around the white-haired woman. One glance was enough to tell Vlad that they were related.

The elderly lady shot a glance at Vlad over her the younger woman's shoulder. When they finally separated, the older woman jerking a thumb at their visitor.

"_Matushka, eto Vlad,_" the blonde said with a smile.

Vlad's ears perked up at the mention of his name. So introductions were going on, and this '_Matushka_,' and what a mouthful that name was, didn't seem to be warming up to him. It was time to turn on the charm.

"Hi," he said in his native Romanian, trying to smile in a friendly manner. That wasn't how it came off, though. As Vlad quickly learned, pointed fangs aren't the way to an elderly Russian mother's heart, except in the most literal of senses.

Sophia silenced him with one simple look, watching the smile slide off his face. Then she turned back to her mother. "_On spas menya_," she explained.

Vlad was lost; the conversation had moved beyond simple introductions. For this reason, he was quite relieved to see the stubborn blonde leading her mother into the other room. The conversation continued over the clatter of dishes, giving the vampire some time to think.

Why was he here in the girl's house? Well she took his hand and led him here. Why had she done that? For that he had no answer. Why, then, wasn't he leaving? He knew the answer, but that didn't mean he liked it. He actually _liked_ the girl. She was plucky, determined, and courageous, and for some reason beyond his comprehension, she wasn't afraid of him. No, she had been kind to him. A part of him was disgusted that he was associating with a weak human, with food, yet the other part was so grateful for her kindness. For nearly ten years now, he had barely talked, preferring to hide in the shadows, listening and scheming. On the rare occasions that he made contact with the inferior species, it was... well, for dinner, and his dinner guests weren't the talkative sort.

Sophia returned to the room with a piping hot cup of... something. She handed it to Vlad, smiling all the while. He didn't know what it was, but it smelled like soiled loincloths which had been left in the sun all day.

"_Kofe_," she explained, looking at him expectantly.

He cracked a half-smile, bowing his head in thanks. Vlad paused, hoping the girl would leave the room. It was just his luck that she continued to stare at him with a look that said, 'I'll cry if you don't take a sip.'

He didn't quite know why, but he didn't want to disappoint the eager blonde. So, hands shaking nervously, he lifted the cup to his lips.

It tasted worse than it smelled, if possible. If he were still King of Wallachia, someone would have been impaled for the contents; whatever it was tasted vile. The vampire decided it tasted of cat urine, sour yoghurt, and regurgitated stomach acid. He smiled and nodded, trying to communicate his thanks for a drink which might have killed a lesser man.

Sophia beamed at him, and suddenly the horrendous liquid didn't taste quite as bad. Tentatively, she took a step forward and wrapped a tiny hand around his wrist, tugging gently. She wanted him to come with her. Vlad seized the opportunity to pour the remainder of his drink between the floorboards, casually kicking some dirt over the small puddle it created in hopes that it would go unnoticed. The girl didn't appear to notice.

She led him through a narrow doorway and opened the door to a small room.

"_Banya_," she declared.

Vlad saw nothing but a small hole in the ground and some worn marks on the walls and in the floor. Then the smell hit him. It was a bathroom. He nodded in understanding, feeling grateful that he would not need to use the claustrophobic, not to mention disgusting, room.

Next up on the tour was a room with a bed. Pressed flowers were scattered about the room as though a tornado of potpourri had attacked.

"_Spal'nya_," Sophia proclaimed. Then she pointed to herself. "_Moya spal'nya_." In case that wasn't clear, she lay down on the bed and pretended to sleep for a moment. Then she got up and all but shoved her houseguest out of the room, taking his wrist again and continuing down the dim hallway. She opened one more door and gestured for the vampire to go inside.

"_Vash spal'nya_," she said, poking Vlad in the chest and pointing to the bed. To be perfectly clear, she herded the man toward the bed and handed him a blanket.

Vlad understood clearly. It was a bedroom, for him of all people. Sophia had been talking to her mother because she wanted to let him stay there. Did... did he accidentally marry her by saving her life? Or was she just trying to thank him. He suspected, hoped, it was the latter, and from the way Sophia went back to her spanilla or whatever she called it, he decided that he was right.

He lay down on the bed until he heard soft, even, breathing coming from the next room. Even if he couldn't use the bed, the thought was a kind one. And so he waited until the house grew quiet and its occupants fell asleep, then headed back into the snowy night.

* * *

_You, master? They're letting you give a tour?_ Seras asked skeptically, whispering in the back of the elder vampire's mind. _You've only been there for a few days._

The truth was he had overheard a phone call and decided that it would be very entertaining to misinform an entire busload of children in one fell swoop, not that he was going to tell Seras that.

_I know, police girl, but everyone is so busy with funeral preparations and I just can't disappoint the children,_ Alucard replied.

With an answer like that, Seras should have known something was very, very wrong. Luckily for the scheming vampire, his apprentice was preoccupied with pouring over the security footage from the past few days and she let the issue go. _Would you like some help? I can research the monast-_

_That's quite alright, _Alucard interrupted. _I know enough for a simple tour._

As it turned out, he didn't, a fact which the unwitting Sunday school teacher and her students were unaware of. They waved to the grinning vampire in disguise as he met them outside the building.

"Father Luke?" the sister inquired. "Sister Margaret. I believe we spoke on the phone..."

"Yes!" Alucard confirmed. He hadn't.

"Your voice sounds much deeper in person," she commented, trying to start up some friendly conversation.

"Ah. That's just my throat cancer." He turned to the swarm of seven-year-olds and cleared his throat. There was something in his voice that demanded attention, commanded obedience. Every last child froze in place and turned to look at their new tour guide. "Right this way," he said, words brimming with false kindness. "Allow me to show you my humble abode."

Like a gentleman, he held a massive door open for the children, ushering them into the place he treated as his own personal playground. "Welcome to St. Beneviere's-"

_St. Benedict's_, Seras corrected.

"St. Benedict's Monastery everyone. This is the home for everyone who is anyone in the British Catholic Church. That's right, children. One well placed explosive and BOOM! The whole country. Atheists."

_I don't think that's what happens when you blow up priests, master,_ the young apprentice said.

_Who's leading this tour, you or me?_ Alucard snapped.

"This building was built nearly two thousand-"

_Two hundred,_ she hissed.

"Excuse me. Two _hundred _thousand year ago."

_Better?_ he spat.

_It's like you don't want my help, master_, Seras groaned.

_Please. These children are what? Four years old? They won't know any better!_

_Well fine then,_ Seras huffed. _I give them five minutes before they realize you're a fraud._

It took them far longer than five minutes. Maybe Sister Margaret was a trusting individual, or maybe she was just dim, but the tour went on.

"Right this way," Alucard said, leading the class down a hallway. "Follow me, children."

Twenty-six ducklings in neat rows followed him as he practically skipped over the stone floors.

"On your left, munchkins, is our kitchen here at St. Bennie's. You'll see Father Jeremy inside, making food with which we feed the pigeons that dwell on our roof. They receive a tasty mixture of rice coated with chocolate and salted caramel twice a day."

"Can _I_ feed the birds?" a little girl asked, staring up at 'Father Luke' and twirling her blonde pigtails around her index finger. It was a behavior that Alucard was quite familiar with; puppy dog eyes were the best way to manipulate Seras. He had tried the maneuver on Integra as well, but his master had simply snorted with amusement and left the room.

"Our resident ornithologists would cover me in birdseed and tie me to the steeple if I even thought of saying yes. Sorry," he replied cheekily, without the slightest bit of remorse. "Shall we go inside?"

The children and Sister Margaret nodded enthusiastically at the thought of seeing the kitchen, and Alucard led them in with a familiar maniacal smile. He shoved aside the cook, whose name he never knew and never cared to know, letting the swarm of pint-sized tourists flood the kitchen.

"What's this, Father Luke?" a little boy asked, brandishing a twelve-inch carving knife.

"It is a gift each priest here at the monastery receives on the day they graduate from the seminary as a way to protect themselves from heretics," he informed the child. Of course the knife was an ordinary kitchen knife and nothing more, but the child looked at it with awe nonetheless. "That's an extra. You can keep it."

Sister Margaret missed the whole exchange, preoccupied with another blossoming crisis. One of the girls apparently was part monkey, for she had climbed a strand of garlic cloves in an attempt to reach a set of glass jars which rested on custom-built shelves. The aging nun had attempted to grasp the girl's ankles, but the tiny thing was far too agile for her aching bones.

"What are these?" she chirped over the sister's cries of, "Get down from there this instant!"

"Ah the spice rack," the fake friar confirmed. For what was likely the first time all day, he was one-hundred percent correct. It was not a streak destined to last. He moved toward the spices, holding up each in turn for the children to see. "We have basil, parsley, cardamom, anise, cinnamon, eye of newt, nutmeg, angelica root, poppy seeds, acromantula venom - I mean... vinegar, and oregano."

The class 'ooh-ed' and 'ah-ed' at all the interesting names. The forgotten chef, on the other hand, simply hung his head in shame; Alucard had made up the contents of every last jar. The bearded man sighed with relief when the fictitious father said:

"If you'll follow me, let us continue on our tour."

The gaggle of giggling schoolchildren followed him obediently back into the hallway.

"Please turn your attention to the left, class, where you will see the Abbot's quarters," the vampire instructed. "The rooms inside are lavishly decorated. The walls are papered with the donations the church receives each Sunday. When the entire wall is covered, the decorators simply add a new layer. Coin donations were used to create the exquisite molding at the floor and ceiling. They were painstakingly created by a team of artists who were promptly executed upon completion of their work. You see, class, art is a sin."

The childrens' mouths made little round 'O's as they listened to their guide's every word.

"The Abbot's bed was handcrafted by a team of artisans with gold bars stolen from the Bank of England in its founding days. The room adjoining is used by the altar boys. It is said that there is a network of hidden tunnels running through the walls which allows the boys to visit their... friends... even after curfew."

"Can we go inside?" a little girl asked.

"Yeah!" a boy agreed. "I wanna jump on the gold bed!"

"NO!" Alucard shouted hastily. "Sorry," he amended at a more appropriate volume. "The Abbot died quite recently, actually. His body... well let's just say that they'll need to air that room out for a few days. Perhaps it is best if we keep moving."

Sister Margaret nodded in agreement and herded the kids past the door. Alucard happily led them to the almonry.

"Here, class, we have the almonry, where the priests store all of their almonds and other various nuts for the winter months."

"Like squirrels?" a child asked.

"Exactly like squirrels. The priests' favorites are the cajones, though they also enjoy young prairie oysters," Alucard continued.

"Excuse me, father," Sister Margaret chimed in. She lowered her voice so the children wouldn't hear, saying, "I believe you have made a mistake. The almonry is where the monks distribute alms to the poor, and give donations to the needy."

"Who's giving the tour, Sister?" he asked.

"I believe that was supposed to be me."

'Father Luke' turned around and found himself eye to eye with the real Father Luke.

"Who are you?" the real monk demanded.

"You were late! I thought I'd fill in," Alucard said. He didn't answer the question, but then again, he didn't particularly want to explain why he had impersonated another man and run off with a bus-full of children.

"He was waiting for us when we arrived!" Sister Margaret added.

"Well then I think I'll be calling security," Father Luke decided, which was probably a wise decision.

"Fantastic," Alucard confirmed. "I'll meet them at the door." He hurried off before either Father Luke or Sister Margaret could say a word.

As he walked swiftly away from the scene of the crime, he heard a faint giggling. His ears perked up; he'd know that voice anywhere. He continued down the hallway in the direction of the sound. Walking quickly, he caught a glimpse of a long blonde plait disappearing around the corner, just like in the security footage. So she was watching him, was she? Did she miss him, or did she simply enjoy watching him humiliated? One thing was for sure. He needed a word with her.

* * *

**Please do not feed your birds rice, chocolate, or salt. I have no idea if caramel is dangerous for them, but I'm going to go ahead and not recommend that.**

**I was having so much fun writing the tour that I completely forgot about the funeral. That will have to wait for next chapter. Don't worry, Alucard can comfort you. His bedside manner is fantastic.**

* * *

**Russian Translations:**

_Matushka, eto Vlad: _Mother, this is Vlad.

_On spas menya:_ He saved me.

_Kofe_: Coffee

_Banya:_ Bathroom

_Moya spal'nya:_ My bedroom

_Vash spal'nya_: Your bedroom


	7. A Eulogy for Decency

**Hello again folks!**

**Chapter 8 is well on its way already. The plus side of free time is more chapters for you!**

**Enjoy, and do let me know what you think!**

**-Kano**

**P.S. Thanks Annavance92 3**

* * *

A Eulogy for Decency

"The enemy must see you coming from a mile away or he must not see you at all."

Vlad cursed bitterly as the saying dancing through his mind. If only he had taken his own advice...

He heard the screams before he had gone even fifty meters from the house into the snowy night. They must have slipped in the front while he was busy slipping out the back. Vlad cursed his foolishness as he turned around. He had personally attacked the Russian military. There weren't going to take it laying down.

Sophia. She had better be alright or someone was going to pay.

As it turns out, Sophia was physically unharmed, but her mother was not. Vlad found the girl with the elderly woman lying limply across her lap, blood blossoming from a stab wound on her lower back. He could no longer hear the blood flowing through her body or the soft breaths as they escaped her lips. He could tell from the doorway; the woman was dead.

Sophia looked up at him with teary eyes, rocking back and forth as she hugged her mother's lifeless body.

Guilt.

It was a sensation he hadn't felt in many many years, and yet one he couldn't help but feel as the teenaged girl cried her eyes out. He wanted to comfort her, but he didn't have the words. So he did what he could. He placed a hand on her shoulder and patted it gently.

She sniffled softly and rested her cheek on his hand. Even if it was a lame gesture, she must have found it a little comforting.

He let her sit there for a few minutes, wallowing in grief, but he couldn't let her go on like this. He wrapped an arm around the dead woman and lifted her from Sophia's lap. Her hands chased the body as it was pulled away, whimpering pathetically. Vlad placed a comforting hand on her cheek as he hoisted the dead woman over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Then he stood and carried to body outside.

The streets of Moscow were still dark and quiet. He frowned. This district was well conditioned to violence; streets were empty, curtains were closed, and the silence was eerie. He slogged through the snowy streets carrying the body, Sophia a few steps behind him. He could hear her sobbing gently, still in shock.

It only took a few minutes to reach the forest outside the city limits, and a quick glance to find the perfect place. It was a little dip in the ground surrounded by nice fist-sized rocks. He placed the dead woman in the hollow, and looked at Sophia. She nodded as hot tears began to flow once more. He patted her shoulder in a reassuring manner and held up five fingers. Five minutes.

The vampire dashed off into the night, using every tool at his disposal to make good time. The first home on the edge of town would have to do. It was night, and the moon was new. Perfect. Using the darkness to his advantage, he phased through the door, bypassing the planks of wood over the door. Inside, he saw a family of four sleeping. It was no matter; he would tread quietly. Vlad got exactly what he needed: a white sheet, a hunk of soap, a bucket, a black leather belt, and one handkerchief. Then it was back to Sophia.

He handed her everything; she would know what to do. The former king leaned against a tree, waiting patiently as Sophia washed her mother's body and dressed the lifeless woman in the white sheet and belt. She came back to him when all was done, leaning her head against his arm. He gave her a moment to regain her composure and then the heavy lifting began.

Vlad gathered an armful of stones and laid them by the body, then went back for more. The bereaved woman helped too, albeit slowly. When they had gathered enough, he reached down for a handful of dirt. Ceremoniously, he poured it into the woman's outstretched hands. Sophia bit her lip and choked down tears as she sprinkled the dirt over her mother's lifeless body. As much as she tried, she couldn't keep her emotions from boiling over. She buried her face in Vlad's chest, wracking sobs tearing through her body.

The fallen king couldn't help but wrap an arm around the crying girl. He hadn't deserved the kindness she had paid him, but she certainly deserved a little comfort. His other arm snaked its way over her shoulders and behind her neck, capturing her in a tight hug. It felt strange to have a warm body pressed against his after all these years of solitude. He savored the moment, but it couldn't last forever.

Vlad and Sophia delicately placed the stones over the body. Sophia bit her lip as her mother vanished from sight, covered by the cold earth. She collapsed to her knees as she placed the last rock, murmuring something in Russian. Prayers, probably.

It was his fault, really. The girl might have gotten a little bruised if he hadn't intervened, maybe worse, but she would have lived. Her mother would have lived, but he just had to be a sucker for those big blue, tear-stained eyes. Vlad squatted, resting on his haunches at Sophia's level. He couldn't believe he was about to make himself look this silly, but when words failed, charades were the only option. He pointed to himself.

I.

He made a fist and punched it into the palm of his other hand.

Hurt.

He pointed to the door. It wasn't the clearest symbol, but hopefully she would understand.

Them.

He crossed his hands over his chest, then moved them toward the weeping girl in an offertory gesture.

For you.

Sophia wiped a tear away, tilting her head curiously as she pondered the symbols. Her eyes widened as she began to understand. 'I will hurt them for you.' She looked him dead in the eyes and nodded solemnly. She was accepting his offer. Very well then.

* * *

Alucard rolled his eyes at the sound of sniffling. He appeared to be the only one who wasn't devastated by the fat abbot's death. Fortunately his yellow glasses hid his frustrated expression from the true believers. The lifeless, well-larded body was in the oversized coffin. He had snickered a little when he found out that it was made of ash. Clearly someone was looking to ward off vampires, or maybe him, and the fact that someone in the church hated him was oh so sweet.

The speaker at the podium had bloodshot eyes and a monotone voice... not the most attractive combination for the listeners. Alucard found the sobbing and the massive cross around his neck rather off-putting as well.

"Abbot O'Brien was a kind and loving man. His heart was bigger than his stomach. Funny, no one ever said that about his eyes," the speaker said. The poorly-delivered joke got a few sobs and one dark chuckle. "The abbot was the kind of man who would have given that a pity laugh."

The No-Life King smiled. He didn't know the old sap well, but he was certain the bleeding heart would have laughed at anything, shaking his beer belly to get a smile. But then something caught his eye.

A long blonde plait.

She was in a slinky black dress with a classy sunhat big enough to make a ten-gallon hat jealous. She was even patting her eyes with a black handkerchief. What a liar; a murderer doesn't cry for their victims.

"Excuse me," he murmured, sliding away from his babysitter, Father Anderson.

The priest protested. "Where are you-"

Alucard raised a finger to his lip. The priest didn't trust the vampire as far as he could kick him, but he could tell that for whatever reason, the No-Life King had invested himself in this mystery. So he played along and let the vampire vanish into the crowd like smoke in the wind.

When Alucard materialized, it was at the front of a line next to the podium: the line of speakers waiting to share their memories of the dearly departed. The priest pursed his lips. What was he doing?! He didn't have any memories to share. He didn't know what Alucard was about to say, but it wasn't going to be good.

He turned away, debating whether or not to plug his ears.

"Good afternoon, folks. It's a lovely day for a funeral, isn't it?" a certain baritone voice said to the dearly beloved gathered before him. "I knew Abbot O'Brennan... I mean O'Brien quite well. He loved to steal from the rich to give to the poor, or was that Robin Hood? Yeah, that was Robin Hood. Both great guys, dear friends of mine. I met him, the Father I mean, during our time in Russia."

Most people looked confused; the abbot had never visited Russia. One person, however, perked up at the mention of the motherland. He could see that flaxen braid swish around as the name reached her ears. Their eyes met: his shining with excitement, hers wide with shock and coupled with a pleasant smile. She was happy to see him, though whether it was revenge or reunion she was anticipating, Alucard didn't know.

"He did his best to aid the needy, the downtrodden, the _orphans_ of the world," Alucard continued, putting emphasis on carefully chosen words so Sophia knew that he was speaking to her. "He helped them protect themselves, valued honesty, and when necessary, enacted revenge."

More whispers: revenge wasn't exactly a Christian principle. But it was one of Alucard's... and Vlad's...

"I kid, I kid. The abbot didn't have a mean bone in his body. But some of the people he dealt with did. During his 'trips overseas,'" Alucard said, using air quotes, "he helped countless people by ensuring that sinners met justice."

There were more whispers as people began to realize that they had never seen this 'priest' before, and that said priest had clearly never met the deceased. It was time for this speech to end.

"I will miss the dear abbot greatly. He was a good man..." He paused for a moment, blinking rapidly, though he couldn't manage to summon tears. "He was my friend." Alucard looked over the crowd, stopping on Sophia's face. "I hope I will see him soon, in peace. Amen!"

He could feel her watching him intently as he stepped away from the microphone, away from the flower-covered stage, and into the crowd. With a smirk, he blended in, feeling quite pleased with himself as he watched her look around. He had to hold in a snort as he slipped behind her. He leaned in close, the tip of his nose a mere hair's width from her neck.

"Hello, Sophie," he whispered, his hot breath brushing the back of her neck.

Alucard felt her shiver; it excited him, much like a cat is excited by the sight of a mouse between its claws.

"It's been a while," he continued in a husky voice. "Let's catch up."

* * *

**Stay tuned for next time, when Alucard teaches a town full of Russians about morals and has a little chat with his old friend Sophia.**


	8. Honesty is the Best Policy

**My goal for the future of this story is to update weekly on Thursdays. Feel free to nag me if I don't stick to that ;)**

**Thank you to those of you who reviewed and PM'd me feedback. I sent all of you a preview of this chapter... I think, minus those of you who left guest reviews. Send me a PM if I missed you and I'll happily give you a preview of next chapter to express my gratitude.**

** 13HellFES: Thanks for pointing that out. Fixed!**

**Thank you Annavance92 ;)**

**Hope you enjoy,**

**-Kano**

* * *

Honesty is the Best Policy

_Moscow, Russia: Market Square_

_November 20, 1486; 10:12 AM_

The market square was as busy as always. Babushkas swarmed between the stalls, haggling for every last ruble and kopek at the top of their lungs. Merchants swatted away street children, begging for handouts. Guards patrolled, eyes scanning for thieves.

Vlad smiled; the poor guards were going to have a busy day. Smile still plastered to his face, he strode to the middle of the square, pack over his shoulder. The contents of the pack were light: just a small stand, disassembled of course, and one golden cup. He and Sophia had scraped together every last kopek they could find just to buy the cup. She hadn't objected, she did want her revenge after all, but he could tell she was nervous about his plan. The girl didn't need to worry; people were all the same.

A crowd began to gather as he set up his stall. A new merchant was exciting, a rare occurrence. Housewives and servants asked him about his wares, to which he replied, "Vy uvidite." You will see. And see they would.

A few minutes and a few swings of the hammer later, and the stall was set up. It took him no time to set up his wares, for all he had was one golden cup. He delicately removed the ornate dinnerware from his pack and placed it smack in the middle and stood behind the stall smiling widely.

The crowd of onlookers didn't quite know how to react. A few tutted, dismissing him as 'dubiina' and 'pridurok,' among other insults to his intelligence. Others walked away when the saw he had just one thing to sell, and still others waited patiently for the rest of his wares, not realizing they would never come. But before the crowd could disperse, Vlad did the unthinkable.

He walked away.

The golden cup sat on the stall, mocking all the thieves and pickpockets hiding among the honest people. The unattended cup was an easy target, practically begging to be stolen. One could take it and be long gone by the time the unwitting merchant returned. And that is exactly what happened.

When Vlad returned the next day, the cup was gone.

His stand, however, was right where he left it. Vlad climbed on top of the wooden construction in the middle of the square and posed a question: "Kto yavlyayetsya vorom?" Who is the thief?

The crowd continued to bustle about him, ignoring the fool who had left his precious cup unattended. He cleared his throat and repeated the question, grateful that his Russian lessons with Sophia had paid off. "Who took the cup?" he demanded, this time loud enough to be heard over the dull roar of the busy marketplace.

A few people turned to look at him, but most continued with their business. Apparently, he needed a new strategy to get some attention. He reached over and grabbed a guard, who happened to be snickering at the poor merchant's predicament. Vlad held the man by the ankle, holding him upside down a full meter above the pavement. The man's surprised shrieks filled the air, bringing the bustling shoppers to a halt.

The enemy must see you coming from a mile away or he must not see you at all, right? For the first time, the marketplace full of people saw Vlad clearly. This was a show of force. So he quietly repeated his question in practiced Russian, "Who stole the cup?"

A few people dared to laugh when they realized the situation. To the average onlooker, it looked like a foolish merchant pitching a fit after his unattended wares had been stolen. But Vlad was no merchant, and he wasn't a fan of laughter.

Without a second thought, he bashed the captive guard against the cobblestones. The unfortunate man's head collided with the rocks. Hard. Blood broke through the skin on the man's forehead, and a series of bruises joined a few moments later as the blood continued to rush to his head. Already, his face was beet red from a combination of growing blood pressure and utter humiliation.

"No one knows?" Vlad continued. He lifted the guard as high as he could so he could peer into his face. "You don't know?"

The guard shook his head. "Please! Jus-"

His protests were cut off by his own agonized screams as Vlad introduced the man's face to the ground once more.

"No one managed to see a filthy disgusting criminal," he screamed, his voice growing more infuriated with each word, "at noon in the middle of a crowded square stealing a very obvious gold cup? Why do I find that hard to believe?" Perhaps it was the scent of blood in the air, but Vlad could feel his vampiric instincts to slaughter the whole crowd beginning to grow.

"And you!" he growled, hoisting the guard into the air once more. "You didn't manage to see a thief steal the most conspicuous item in the whole place. It is your job to see him!"

"I didn-" the guard protested. "I-I... h-he-"

"I have no time for excuses and no tolerance for laziness," Vlad spat. He lifted the man onto the stand with him.

The guard sighed in relief. "Thank you!"

The comment was about ten seconds too early.

Vlad looked the guard dead in the eyes and said, "I believe every man should know the name of his killer."

The blood drained from the guard's face as he realized that he was not out of the woods yet.

"I am Vlad the Impaler, former king of Wallachia, current denizen of the night. Good bye."

The sound of breaking bones crackled throughout the square. The enemy must see you coming from a mile away. The patrons of the square clearly saw Vlad as he broke the guard's neck and tossed his lifeless corpse to the ground. They knew without a doubt what his next actions would be if they didn't reveal the thief.

"He took it!" a farmer cried. "It was him!"

Vlad's ears perked up at the confession. "So you aren't all blind," he murmured.

The other market patrons crowded around the accused man, barring his escape. They were ready to sacrifice the stranger for their own lives. Pathetic.

The former king leaned over, bringing himself down to the frightened farmer's height. "So... did you take it?" He clapped a hand on the man's shoulder. The same gesture from another person might have been considered reassuring and patient, but from Vlad, it was a clear threat. He gripped with just enough pressure that the accused would have no chance of escaping. The desperate look in the man's eyes showed that he was well aware of that fact.

"I didn't take it. I swear!" he protested. "On my mother's grave!"

Vlad smiled. "Do you hear that, folks?" he said in a voice loud enough for the whole square to hear. "He didn't do it. And do you know what that means?" He reached over and put his hand on the accuser's shoulder smirking as he said, "That means we have a liar on our hands, and if there's one thing I hate more than incompetence, it's liars."

He could see the accuser gulp. The remains of the inept guard lay in the middle of the square. If that's how he treated lazy people, then whoever had lied to him was certainly in a bind.

"Which leads me to the question," Vlad continued, "which one of you two is lying?"

In a panicked desire to save their own skin, both men pointed to each other.

"Come now. Confess," the vampire goaded. When it became clear that neither man was prepared to do that, he tossed them both back into crowd with disgust.

"You know, ladies and gentleman, back in Wallachia we had a way of punishing dishonesty. It was a pretty effective way to punish just about everything, actually. You see, impalement is a pretty gruesome way to go."

Vlad rounded on the supposed thief. "Would you mind helping me for a moment?"

The crowd was not about to deny the murderous vampire before them. They surged forward, forcing the accused into Vlad's waiting arms.

"I saw to all cases personally. I would put the stake in right here," he said, poking the man's stomach a few centimeters above his belly button. "And then I'd start pushing. By the time the tip was here," he said, pointing at the man's back, "I'd know the truth every time. There's something about the feeling of sharp, pointed wood sliding through flesh that seems to inspire honesty."

The accused man was pale and sweating, as was to be expected. He dropped to his knees and kissed Vlad's worn boots. "I swear I am innocent," he sobbed. "I'll prove it to you, any way you demand!"

"Hush!" Vlad whispered. He knelt down next to the prostrated man. "That won't be necessary. I believe you!"

"You believe me!" the man gasped. "Thank you so m-"

"I believe you because I saw this fall from your pocket," Vlad interrupted. He held up a loaf of bread, still hot. "You are a farmer, no? You have flecks of cotton in your hair. You certainly didn't grow the grain, and you are undoubtedly miles away from home. I can only conclude that you stole your breakfast."

"I was hungry!" he protested. "Please, show mercy!"

"I understand your actions," Vlad replied solemnly. He licked his lips. "You see, I'm hungry too." He snapped the man's neck with one clean bite. The man suffered a quick and painless death. Vlad lay the man on the muddy streets and passed his hands over the deceased's eyes. "I'm sorry, but crime cannot go unpunished," he said. "You were hungry and desperate, but that is no excuse."

"And you," he called in a louder voice, causing the escaping accuser to freeze in his tracks. "Only cowards and those with guilty consciences flee. I cannot stomach either. Tell me, what reason do you have for marking an innocent man for death?"

"Fear," he whimpered. "I have no doubt that you would massacre us all to get your stupid cup back." That little quip gave him more confidence, and all his emotions spilled out in a rant. "Why does the cup even matter? You stand here preaching morals to us! What about greed, huh?!"

"My dear man, you are right. The cup is stupid. It's unimportant to me. I could care less if I didn't see it ever again," Vlad responded.

The poor peasant sighed in relief, but it was short-lived.

"No, it is the principle of the thing," Vlad spat. "I placed that cup here as a test, a test which all of you failed." The last word slid out of mouth with such disgust that the crowd began to look guilty and ashamed, despite their fear. He climbed back up on his stand and continued.

"When I arrived here, I saw that this city had a problem: selfishness. And it all stems from one man." He pointed toward the Kremlin. "That one. You see, our dear Grand Duke Ivan doesn't understand that he can't raise taxes anymore. His drive for more territory and more wealth are meaningless to the rest of us. He'd tax you all into oblivion without an ounce of guilt, and that disgusts me. He'd let you rot, starving in a gutter. He already lets his soldiers parade about, forcing themselves on your wives and daughters, your mothers and your sisters. He lets them steal from you all in the name of protection. If he's protecting you, I have yet to see it. Here I am, standing here, practically begging to be shot as I murder. Has a single soldier tried to stop me? No."

Voices rushed through the crowd like wind through the leaves of the trees. Suddenly, Vlad wasn't the bad guy. Suddenly, he was a man with a point.

"I thought you were different from our dear leader. I thought you were honest, hardworking people just trying to survive in a harsh world." Then he shrugged. "But I guess no one here has the decency to turn in a simple criminal."

The crescendo of whispers rose to a roar. Ivan was loved in political circles, but certainly not by most of his constituents.

"I was ready to dedicate my life to change. I was ready to start restoring order to this broken city. I was ready to take down Ivan, to make him answer for everyone who has died in his pointless wars or from his selfish taxes, but I see now that you're just the same as he is. You are all self-interested."

"How dare you!" a voice called out. It was an elderly woman near the edge of the crowd. "How dare you!"

"Do you have something to say?" Vlad asked coolly.

"I have worked my fingers to the bone to feed my family. I have opened my home to strangers and travellers. I have never stolen so much as a kopek! And I could say the same for many of my neighbors here!" she protested.

Her words were met with cheers of agreement.

"Does she speak the truth?" Vlad demanded of the mob.

"Yes!" they roared.

"Are you people of honesty?" he asked.

"Yes!" they chanted in unison.

"Are you hard-working?" he called.

"Yes!" the mob replied.

"Then perhaps I was wrong about you after all. So I will ask one more time." He smiled as he repeated the question that would secure his position in the city permanently. "Who stole my cup?"

The criminal was carried forward on the crowd. The citizens and shopkeepers swarmed around him, preventing his escape. Vlad smiled victoriously as several men rushed to the thief's nearby home and brought the golden cup back, raised high in the air. It was now that he was grateful that he subjected himself to those endless weeks of Russian lessons with Sophia; they were paying off even now.

"It was on his dresser!" they called.

Vlad looked the man up and down, then walked over to his stall. He was feeling a bit nostalgic today. What better way to start his new rule than to revive a tradition from his old one? The vampire ripped a plank off of the stall and began to sharpen it with his pointed claws. Three knives were extended in his direction as gifts and offerings once it became clear what he intended to do. The crowd roared with anticipation as the spike took form. Vlad raised it up for the crowd to see, and it was met with cheers.

Men from the crowd seized the thief's arms and forced them behind his back. More surged forward to hold the guilty party's feet and hands. The thief struggled, cried, and pleaded but his words fell on deaf ears. His begging was silenced as the wooden spike was shoved into his stomach.

Vlad's calls for rope were met with tens of offers. He carried the thief, still impaled, the last few meters to the stand where this had all started. He lashed the spike to the wooden stand, leaving the thief's feet suspended a few centimeters from the ground. The crowd cheered as he solemnly placed the golden cup back in its place.

"Long live the King!" they cried. "Long live the King!"

* * *

Alucard watched the hairs on the back of Sophia's neck stand straight up as his hot breath hit the back of her neck. She spun around with inhuman speed, her blonde tresses swinging wildly.

"You!" she hissed.

"An astute observation," he replied snidely.

"That was an... interesting speech," she quipped back.

"I've become a lot more creative since leaving the frozen wasteland you call home."

Sophia gave him a dirty look; he expected no less.

"I distinctly remember you killing a man for lying to you. Whatever happened to that rabid desire for honesty?" she demanded.

"I realized that sometimes the truth is less kind than the lies. Speaking of filthy liars, that was some excellent acting back in Moscow," Alucard said, turning the focus back to his former accomplice.

"That wasn't acting, Vlad," she said with a pout. "You really did hurt me."

"That was the idea," he snapped. Sophia was beginning to get on his nerves. Something about her confidence was really beginning to get under his skin. "Why are you here? Revenge?" he demanded tersely.

"Don't flatter yourself. I have much bigger plans for our Catholic friends."

Alucard pursed his lips as he weighed his options. He wasn't a big fan of the church, at least not since God had abandoned him and left him for dead. On the other hand, he had torn out Sophia's entrails and scattered them across an entire continent for a very good reason... A wide smile spread across his face, giving him a rather devilish look. Suddenly, his mannerisms changed. He let the tension fall from his shoulders and allowed himself to share the compliment that he had been holding back. "That was a very nice touch on Sunday. It had them in such a panic. I must say, I never would have thought of leaving hunk of flesh in the middle of their ridiculous ritual-"

"Are you talking about the Eucharist?" Sophia asked.

Alucard remembered trudging through the snow to bring the girl to every building with a steeple in the greater Moscow area. It figured that she would know church terminology. He shrugged. "Probably."

Sophia sighed. Despite the fact that she had brought the vampire to at least twenty different churches, he still had no idea what happened inside them. "The ceremony where they eat the body and blood of Christ?"

"They were supposed to eat that?" Alucard scoffed. "It was congealed and old! No one wants to eat tha-"

"They aren't literally eating flesh!" Sophia groaned. "It's supposed to be a miracle. The priest turns the communion wafers into the body of Jesus... Christ..." Her words trailed off as she realized the futility of her actions. "Never mind. When they eat the disgusting little pieces of bread that everyone in robes has had their hands all over, and then wash it down with wine that a whole line of people have backwashed in."

"Oh!" Alucard said, finally comprehending Sophia's words when she stooped to conversing like him. "That ridiculous procession. Last Sunday, there was a hunk of meat sitting in a pool of blood in a cup. I mean meat. In blood. In a cup. Hmm... there's potential for that. I should start a fast food restaurant."

"I didn't do that, Vlad."

Alucard regarded her cautiously. "You didn't?" he asked skeptically.

"I only went after the Abbot. That sanctimonious bastard was putting donations into an overseas account, then guilting poor church-going saps into continuing to line his pockets. He was asking for it!" Sophia confirmed. "The other dead men... I had nothing against them, believe me."

The No-Life King regarded his former apprentice. There were certain lessons that he had hammered home for the girl, honesty being one of them. Sophia wasn't the lying type, but she was just the type to go after a corrupt church official. Yet, "Who else could possibly be responsible?"

"It's the church, Vlad," Sophia said, as if it was obvious. "Everyone here has an agenda. The question is whose agenda were the victims getting in the way of."

"I have no idea," Alucard said with a malicious smile. "But I know who is going to tell me."

**Stay tuned for next chapter when Vlad further cements his rule over the impoverished citizens of Moscow with his favorite pass-time, impaling, and Alucard is forced to ask his a priest for a favor.**


	9. For the Greater Good

**As previously mentioned, F&B will now be updating weekly on Thursdays. Hopefully I can keep these updates nice and regular for the duration of the series. **

**Please check out my new fic, **_**Master of the King**_**, in which ****Integra realizes that Alucard's curse will break upon her death because she has no children. She enlists the help of her nephew Braven and trains him to become Alucard's new master, which naturally the homicidal vampire does not like. To make matters worse, Braven is a social recluse and a bit of a brat, and ends up using Alucard for his own personal gain. When ghosts of events past threaten the Hellsing Organization from within, Alucard, Braven, and Integra must set aside their own objectives and band together or perish.**

**Enjoy,**

**-Kanotari**

**P.S. Thanks to my lovely beta reader, AnnaVance92.**

* * *

_Moscow, Russia: Market Square_

_November 20, 1486; 2:24 PM_

Sophia sniffed the air, her nostrils flaring. There was something off... It smelled acrid and smoky, like a wood-burning stove. As the realization dawned on her, her eyes began to scan the horizon, looking for a plume of smoke. She found the dark clouds roiling over the market square. It was then that she noticed the sound of pained screams, terrified screams in the distance and the tiny figures of people scrambling like ants when a leaf falls in their path. Her feet moved of their own accord, denying her instincts for survival and rushing toward the blazing inferno. Vlad was there. He was in the market. Had they discovered his secret?

The scene she saw when she arrived did not match the one her terrified mind had conjured. The crowd was mysteriously calm, milling about the stalls as though there was no danger. Vendors, too, had returned to their stalls to sell their wares. The reason soon became abundantly clear; this was Vlad's doing.

Sophia found him sitting on an elaborately carved wooden chair with a self-satisfied smile on his face. One man had knelt down before this makeshift throne, allowing the self-proclaimed king to his his prostrate form as a footrest. A woman stood by his side with a platter of food. A mound of food and other purchases had been piled by the chair's side: offerings, presumably.

Vlad snapped his fingers when he saw Sophia. "A chair for my friend," he ordered the woman standing beside him. The girl rushed off with a nod.

Sophia realized that she must have looked confused, for Vlad said, "I take it you don't like what I've done with the place."

"What _did_ you do?" she asked. It was all a little unreal to her.

"You mean the fire? That's the guard house. The good people here were tired of Ivan's dogs barking at them." He snapped his fingers again, flagging down the serving girl as she returned with Sophia's chair. "Galena, would you fetch my trophies?"

"Trophies?" Sophia asked, tossing her plait over her shoulder as she sat down.

"Well they aren't encased in bronze, but I earned them nonetheless," Vlad said.

Galena returned quickly, and the smell of Vlad's 'trophies' preceded her.

Sophia was beginning to wonder what the stench was when she discovered just what had 'earned.' The serving girl held two severed heads on a platter, their sunken eyes staring garishly at her. Her jaw dropped, and she gaped at the vampire.

"Not sure if he was the bastard who murdered your mother, but at the very least it was one of his friends," Vlad said.

"Thank you," she whispered. Sophia never thought she would be happy to see a dead man, but was disgusted to discover that it felt good to see the dead guard's lifeless stare. They were one step closer to avenging her mother.

A part of her, however, protested. Who was the other dead man? Was he guilty as well? And what had Vlad done to get a market full of people to wait on him? How had he whipped them into such a frenzy that they were burning a guard booth?

"How..." she managed to stammer.

"I marched in, killed a few people, said I was going to make mincemeat out of old Ivan in his castle, and then proclaimed myself king," he declared. His words were met with scattered cheers from the market patrons.

One particular set of words stood out to Sophia. "You're going to kill the Grand Prince?" she gasped.

"I hate liars and thieves. I hate laziness and ignorance. Ivan the Supposedly Great is all of those. And hell, I'm bored."

* * *

Y-y-you?!" Alexander Anderson clutched his sides. His shoulder shook violently, rocked by the waves of soundless laughter that reverberated throughout his body. "_You_ want a favor!" He collapsed into the chair behind him as his knees failed him. "From me!"

The priest may have been amused, but someone else was not. Alucard glared at the Catholic through narrowed eyes. His arms were crossed over his chest and he tapped his toe as he waited for Anderson to catch his breath.

Father Anderson wiped a tear from the corner of his eye. "Ah..." he sighed. "No."

"What do you mean _no_?" he hissed.

The priest took a few deep breaths, regaining his composure. "I mean just what I said," he managed to say in an even tone.

"It was a simple request!" Alucard protested. "Why not?"

"I already gave Sir Integra all the complete dossiers about every person in this monastery. Why do you need their financial records?"

Alucard remained silent for a moment, weighing his options, but at last he realized he had no choice but to reveal a tidbit of information from Sophia. "The former Abbot's finances were... questionable."

"How dare you defile a good man's memory, especially so soon after his death!" Anderson growled.

Alucard produced a slip of paper from his pocket, the result of several hours of frantic phone calls, delegated to the Police Girl of course. He cleared his throat and read, "Thirteen hundred pounds a year, eh? How does a man with that salary have three hundred and forty thousand pounds in the Caymans?"

Anderson frowned; he had no explanation.

"Especially one who claims to donate so much to charity..." Alucard added. He dropped the paper in Anderson's lap. "You might want to read that."

Anderson took one look and shoved it away from him in disgust. "Fine. I'll give what you need to your handler."

Alucard flinched he was reminded that he was a lapdog and not a lone wolf, but things were about to get more unpleasant for the vampire.

"On one condition."

Alucard's face twisted into a hellish grimace. "You're crossing into dangerous territory, priest."

"Condition, or no financial records."

If the situations had been any different - if Sophia hadn't been involved, if he didn't have a chance to shame the church - then he wouldn't have even considered the priests terms. But that was not the case, and so it was through clenched teeth that he demanded, "What?"

"Community service," Anderson said with an evil smile.

Alucard growled; the priest thought this was funny. He thought otherwise.

"One hour, one record. That's the deal," the priest insisted.

"One hour, all the records," he hissed. How dare the venomous cretin demand _anything_ of the No-Life King!

"One hour, one record. That is my deal. Take it or leave it."

"Fine." Alucard spat. "Just remember who you are dealing with. I have torn out the throats of kings, devoured generals and thieves alike. I have consumed the souls of millions. And I swear that if you do not deliver, you will join them."

* * *

**Stay tuned for next week, when Vlad tests the loyalty of his impoverished army and Alucard is forced to work in a soup kitchen.**


	10. Charity

**Ten chapters... it feels like such a milestone! Good work, me. Thanks, me! Here's to ten more chapters!**

**Thanks again for all the kind words of encouragement. As mentioned last chapter, I try to give all my reviewers and PM supporters previews of upcoming chapters, but I don't always keep material in reserve. I think I'm all caught up, but please don't hesitate to remind me if I miss you!**

**Thanks as always to Miss Annavance92 for her beta work.**

**Happy (belated) Thursday,**

**-Kano**

* * *

_Moscow, Russia: Lower City: Ivanovich Residence_

_November 24, 1486; 8:34 AM_

"Streltsy," Vlad repeated, letting the foreign word roll off his tongue. "Streltsy... What a strange word for a strange group of people."

"Strange? They are cowardly mercenaries! A dime a dozen! How is that strange?" Sophia rebutted.

"It's strange that a group of dogs like them would bark for their master, and not bite his hand."

Sophia tilted her head, wondering what was going on in the vampire's head. "What do you mean?"

"What does our dear Grand Prince Ivan have on them? Men do not throw away their lives for a ruler with no honor, like Ivan. He must have some way of keeping them under control..." Alucard mused.

Sophia nodded; it made sense. She bit her lip, thinking for a moment, but it wasn't the Streltsy on her mind. A hint of pink graced her cheeks, and she snuck a quick peek at Vlad through her blonde hair as it dangled over her ear. His pale skin was even fairer than hers, and even in the dim indoor light, it attracted the eyes to it, to him. By contrast, he had a dark look on his face, but that only served to make him more alluring. His blood red eyes reminded her that he wasn't just another man, that he was something more. She could already feel her heart beginning to race. Carefully, delicately, she gave into her instincts and rested her head ever so gently on his shoulder.

Vlad glanced at her curiously, and then went back to puzzling through Ivan's power structure. Sophia counted that as a success; he hadn't shoved her away like she feared. She let herself smile a little and savored her small victory.

And then Vlad stood up. "Food!" he declared as she slid to the floor.

Sophia sat up, rubbing her shoulder. "I can make you somet-"

Vlad grabbed her by the shoulders. "Ivan's feeding the Streltsy and their families! That's why he's letting the city starve in a year of record crops!" He wrapped her in an inescapable hug. "It's brilliant. Come with me!"

Sophia stood frozen for a moment after the vampire released her, memorizing the places his hands had grasped her arms, savoring the warmth of his chest against hers before it faded away into the cold night.

"Are you coming?" he asked impatiently, holding the door open for her.

"Wait up," she laughed. "Us mere mortals can't move as quickly as you."

"Grab that basket, then if you're going to take your sweet time," he teased back.

She reached down for the repurposed hamper with a puzzled look on her face and lifted the lid. Inside was a smorgasbord of food, enough for quite a few meals. "You really are hungry, aren't you?" she murmured almost inaudibly.

"Not in the least, otherwise I'd track down a guard to feast on," he said in response to her hypothetical question. "Just trust me."

Sophia nodded, preparing to do as she had so many times in these past months. Trusting Vlad was almost as natural as breathing. She slipped her feet into her outdoor shoes and shuffled after him, struggling with the heavy basket. After a few moments, the basket suddenly grew lighter and then lifted away altogether.

"Thanks," Sophia giggled as Vlad took the heavy parcel for her.

"Any time," he replied with a wide smile. Sophia couldn't help but smile back. His grin was so compelling, when he wasn't standing in the blood of his enemies, that is. She caught of the glimpse of Vlad's past life in that moment, the glorious Voivode of Wallachia. The girl could feel the blood rushing to her cheeks again.

The Russian beauty followed the vampire through the crowded streets of Moscow. They had only dodged skinny dogs and playful children for about two minutes when they stopped suddenly, so suddenly in fact that Sophia slammed into Vlad's back.

"Shh!" he told her. "We're here!"

"Here? Where is here? We're in the middle of nowhere!"

He rolled his eyes, extended a hand, and knocked on the wooden wall. It promptly fell over to reveal a huddled mass of people. Vlad knelt down, appearing to be entirely unphased by the progression of events.

"Kazimir Noscov?" he asked.

The man in the middle politely pushed his family aside. The woman who appeared to be his wife had tears streaming down her cheek. Sophia bit her lip, wondering how they saw Vlad. Why were they in hiding? Did they think Vlad was here to hurt them?

Vlad opened the basket and pulled out a little meat pie, a delicious pirozhok. Sophia watched as their eyes dilated. It was clear they were hungry. The girl reached into the basket and loaded her arms up with food: pirozhki, vatrushka, and syrniki. She then shuffled across the open space to the weeping woman. With a wide smile, Sophia handed the woman a tasty morsel.

"Thank you," Mrs. Noscov said gratefully.

Sophia happily emptied her arms, giving food to Kazimir and his family. One of his daughters, little Eleena, gave her a big hug with her face still covered in crumbs. She was so happy surrounded by this big, joyous family and their rejoicing that she didn't even notice when Vlad left the shack with Kazimir or when the pair returned.

Vlad placed a hand on Sophia's shoulder, nodding toward the door. It was time to leave. She hugged the children goodbye and, with a cheerful wave, followed the No-Life King out the door.

"That was fun," she chatted exuberantly on their walk home. "I feel like we really did something."

Vlad chuckled. "Yes, it certainly was a productive outing."

It wasn't until Christmas Eve that Sophia learned the hidden meaning behind Vlad's words.

* * *

"You can't be serious," Alucard groaned, crossing his arms over his chest.

"But I am," Anderson said. He held the door open for the sadistic vampire, ushering him inside the decrepit kitchen.

Alucard shot the man a pained look as he crossed the threshold, stepping one foot on the aged tile.

"Go on," the priest insisted, shooing him along with a wave of his hand and a wicked smile on his face.

Waiting inside for him was a middle-aged woman in a hairnet. Her dyed red hair, the same shade as her garish red lipstick, was poking through the net. "What have we got here, Father?" she asked in a heavy Cockney accent. "Fresh meat?"

"Fresher than your herb garden, Nellie," Anderson promised. "Show him the ropes. It'll do him some good."

"Let's see if he does anyone else any good today," Nellie sighed, eyeing the newcomer with a skeptical glance. "You'll want these," she added, handing the vampire a frilly apron, a pair of latex gloves, and a clean hairnet.

"I'll pass," Alucard hissed venomously. This punishment was tedious enough without the ridiculous getup.

Suddenly, he found Nellie blocking his way into the kitchen. "Do not pass go, and do not collect two hundred pounds." She stood on her tiptoes and tossed the pink apron, lace and all, over his shoulders, patting it with a self-satisfied smile on her face.

He narrowed his eyes at the tiny, color-blind woman. Six hundred years ago, she would have lost her hand... and her arm... and stomach... But that was then and this was now, and now Anderson stood, tapping his toe as if to remind the vampire that he had better hurry up and listen to the cook or he could kiss his financial records good bye. So it was, with a rising temper, that he ripped the piece of fabric from his shoulder and wrapped it around his waist. He snatched the hairnet from the bossy volunteer, pulling it over his hair, and then yanked the gloves onto his hands with two loud snaps.

The sassy cook then allowed Alucard into the kitchen, a smug smile plastered on her face. Anderson gestured inside the door, looking almost as gleeful as Nellie. Alucard shuffled inside, muttering darkly.

"Time to see if you can tell a ladle from a lentil," Nellie droned, clearly skeptical of her new cook's skills, and attitude for that matter.

"One is a type of food, and the other you can shove up-"

Alucard was interrupted by a swift elbow to the ribs, courtesy of Father Anderson. He was also met with a silver soup ladle to the shin from Nellie.

"Rule number one," she declared. "There will be no back-talk in my kitchen, is that clear Mister Sassy Pants?"

"Look, lady," he spat, rubbing his fresh battle wound, "I'm not a very nice man. I'll make food for the unwashed masses because I have to, but you had better not expect me to do it with a smile."

Father Anderson leaned over and whispered in the angry vampire's ear. "You'll do it with a smile, or I'll shred your precious documents."

If the vampire still had blood coursing through his veins, his blood pressure would have shot off the charts. As it was, his breathing became so violent that his shoulders rose and fell with every temperamental gasp. He took one deep breath, drawing air into the very bottom of his lungs. He then let it out slowly, releasing his anger with the airstream. "Fine," he said at last, making eye contact with the ferocious Nellie.

Nellie balked. For the first time in Anderson's recollection, she took a step backward. This was a woman who had watched a scruffy homeless man piss all over her kitchen and a mud-covered child scream at the top of her tiny lungs for three hours straight. She had been assaulted, insulted, mocked, teased, and wheedled all without batting an eyelash. But this... this was too much.

Alucard showed his teeth in a wide, awkward smile. His face was meant to scowl or smirk, but a toothy smile made it look... wrong. The pointed teeth only added to the disturbing visage.

"Let's get you started on the prep station," Nellie murmured, a little less forcefully than usual. She warily handed Alucard a carving knife and guided him toward a roast ham, still steaming from it's stay in the oven.

The thing was, Alucard prefered meats of a raw variety. He also didn't have the manners to cut his food. Slicing a ham was something completely foreign to him, but Nellie didn't need to know that. The vampire raised the dull knife above his head and brought it down on the ham shank with considerable force. The blade cut through the meat, gradually slowing down until it stopped right in the center, embedded a centimeter deep in the hambone. With a cheeky smile that said 'I clearly know what I'm doing,' Alucard proceeded to push the knife down, though the difficulty of it surprised him. He tapped into his vampiric strength for a moment and forced the tempered steel through the marrow and bone, snapping it like a Kit-Kat bar. He carved through the rest of the ham and down into the wooden cutting board with a self-satisfied air about him.

Nellie raised one eyebrow and placed a hand on her hip. "This just ain't your station, honey," she sighed, shaking her head. She ripped the knife from the vampire's hand and replaced it with a soup ladle. "Maybe it's better if you just stay out of the kitchen all together. Go serve some people."

Alucard rolled his eyes. "She wanted me to cut it, and I did," he explained to a sniggering Anderson as soon as the red-haired volunteer walked away to stir a pot.

The priest might have had a snappy comeback if he wasn't laughing so hard that he could barely breathe.

With a displeased look on his face, the frilly-aproned vampire slunk toward the waiting line of the hungry homeless. The ladle wasn't a new invention, and it was pretty self-explanatory, but Alucard underestimated its malicious desires. He dipped the utensil into the kettle of soup then lifted it over a scruffy-looking man's chipped bowl. He tried to pour the chicken noodle soup into the bowl, but the ladle... the ladle worked it's evil magic. Not a single drop of the golden broth made it to its target, dripping down the ladle, off the bottom, and away between the cracks in the concrete floor.

The homeless man looked at Alucard like he was crazy, likely wondering if the unwilling volunteer had ever served soup before.

Alucard, meanwhile, pursed his lips at the infernal utensil, something which did not escape the attention of a very cross Nellie. She stormed over and ripped the ladle from the frustrated man's hands, then stared at Father Anderson. "Why did you send me this git?! He's useless!" she insisted.

"Our friend here needed a lesson," the priest explained.

"A lesson! My kitchen is not a place for lessons! It's a place for food!" she hollered, rounding on the holy man, snatching a wooden spoon off the counter.

"Lessons don't feed people! Competent volunteers do!" she shrieked, brandishing the spoon at Anderson. "You better be putting on an apron and making up for this mess!"

"Yes ma'am!" Father Anderson answered, snatching the hair net off of Alucard's head.

"You might want this," Alucard said with a smirk as he untied his apron for the priest.

"And this," added Nellie, holding out her hand for the vampire's gloves. He happily forked them over, to which she replied, "Now get out of my kitchen!"

* * *

**Stick around for next Thursday when Vlad marches to war against the Streltsy and Alucard tries to discover Sophia's next victim before she strikes again.**


End file.
